


ivy and gold

by starseas



Series: glitter / gold [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:03:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseas/pseuds/starseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. “we should get married," louis says, and this time, neither of them say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ivy and gold

**Author's Note:**

> this is a SEQUEL and it's super fluffy self indulgent wedding fic. I'M SO SORRY. i love you. i hope you like it!!! ♥（ﾉ´∀`）

Harry’s having trouble breathing.

His vision is a static blur of white stars and moonlight, the wooden paneled walls shifting in and out of focus like they’re half draped in a dream. He exhales shakily and Louis swallows the sound, his lips moving soft against Harry’s softly, their kiss becoming a blur of teeth and tongue and laughter, always laughter.

Because that’s how it is with him and Louis, that’s how it’s been since they met in high school and that’s still how it is now. Louis kisses Harry, almost bruising with the force of it, and Harry just smiles goofily, laughing into Louis’ mouth. 

Everything is soft and hazy, bedroom like a backyard fire.

It’s strange because there’s a blizzard whirling outside the window—snowflakes bright white against the heavy gray sky—but when Louis bites down on Harry’s lip and laughs into him, Harry’s whole body goes heavy and full of heat, his head turning into nothing but a rain cloud. They move against each other slowly, like shadows or smoke, and the moonlight stealing slowly over the walls makes Harry feel like he’s drowning or maybe learning how to float.

“You alright, Curly?” Louis grins, pulling at Harry’s hair. 

Harry breathes out through his nose then, sharp, the world blurring out until it’s just the moonlight and Louis looking down at him—Louis’ body over his, Louis’ legs between his thighs, spreading heat. Harry’s so turned on that it’s pathetic, because he’s not a teenager anymore, he’s twenty four years old and he should be able to handle himself, shouldn’t he? He should be able to handle Louis.

“Don’t do that,” Harry says, trying to keep his voice down. 

They’re in the guestroom of his mum’s winter cottage—Harry took time off from the bakery to visit for the week, and Louis faked sick and found a substitute to get out of coaching track at the local high school like he usually does. It’s Wednesday now and they’re staying until Sunday, which is great. It’s wonderful, even. But—still, he has absolutely no idea if she’s even gone to bed yet. It’s past midnight, definitely, the whole room swimming in an inky purple sort of dimness, but even at his age the last thing in the world Harry needs is for his mum to hear him getting off with Louis Tomlinson. It’s happened before and it’s not happening again.

“Lou, don’t,” Harry says again, but his voice is shaking like a dead leaf because Louis is kissing his neck again and it feels so good that Harry can barely see straight, barely see anything at all.

And everything he can see is bright blue—

Bright blue, a drowning color, the same shade as Louis’ eyes.

“Why not?” Louis frowns, propping himself up with his hands on either side of Harry’s head. The bed is a warm mess of old quilts that they found in Harry’s mum’s linen closet, and Louis seems electric when he’s this close up. Fucking hell, he’s like a sea. Harry could drown in this bed. He feels like a ship that’s found it’s home and it’s the craziest feeling in the world. Harry grins, watching as Louis tilts his head to the side, staring down at Harry with careful eyes. “You think your mum’s gonna hear us, don’t you?”

Harry nods, smiling goofily again. “I can get quite loud.”

“I’ll cover your mouth for you,” Louis laughs, soft and warm as he ducks his head down to kiss at Harry’s neck again, once, twice, the storm outside spinning like television static in the dark. 

It’s a moment before Louis backs away, propping himself over Harry on all fours, and he looks like something out of a dream. His hair is tousled with sleep, wild like a lion, and his blue eyes seem endless here, here in the purple dark where the snow outside seems soft and far away, like the cold could never touch them.

“Hey,” Harry says, and his words are low, just for Louis. He’s smiling, slow, his vision smudged with sleep. “Come here. I wanna kiss you.”

“You always want to kiss me, don’t front,” Louis replies, and then he shakes his head and just watches Harry for a moment. He watches him and the moonlight washing into the room casts a bar of silvery light across his face.

He looks soft like this, soft and sleepy and warm.

“You kind of look like a lion right now,” Harry says, grinning up at Louis with warm eyes. “But I still wanna kiss you. That’s love.”

“That’s bestiality,” Louis corrects, tapping Harry on the nose with his finger. “And at least I don’t look like a frog.” 

“Hey,” Harry frowns. “I do not.”

“Do so,” Louis laughs, and his body is getting heavy over Harry’s but Harry likes it, like how he can feel their chests pressed close, how he can feel his own heartbeat thrumming against Louis’ ribcage. Smiling softly, Louis trails a finger over the small slopes of Harry’s eyebrows. “You’ve got the same big eyes,” he says, and Harry probably should be offended but he’s too distracted by the feeling of Louis’ finger moving down the bridge of his nose. He exhales slowly, and Louis grins. “You’ve got a cute little nose like a frog, too.”

“Frogs don’t have cute noses,” Harry points out.

“That’s rude,” Louis says. “They’ve got cute nostrils.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “You think my nostrils are cute?”

“Never said that,” Louis replies, but then he mouths _yes_ , and Harry’s laugh is so loud that it echoes out in the room like a gunshot. The moonlight washing in through the window bounces off the mirror above the dresser, pooling pale light on the wooden floors, and Harry feels warm like he’s sitting in the middle of a fire. 

“Then I think you’re nostrils are cute, too.” Harry sighs, still floating.

“We should get married,” Louis says, sudden and daring and—

“What?” Harry freezes, his whole body stilling in place, and he can feel that his mouth is all swollen with kisses, his nose red from the cold outside. He’d been out there earlier, sledding down hills on his back with Louis trailing after him, frozen snow spraying up into their faces like mist. “What?” He says again, staring up at Louis’ face with wide eyes. It’s like his thoughts are spilling out into a tunnel, taking forever to get out, taking forever to sound like something other than _Louis, Louis, Louis_. “Wait, what? For real?”

Louis furrows his eyebrows, almost amused. “No. Not yet.”

“Oh my god, Louis,” Harry groans, shoving against Louis’ chest. “Stop fucking doing that! That’s like the fifth time now, shit.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Louis says, but he’s laughing so it doesn’t really count. Harry frowns and shifts to lay on his side, but Louis just moves him with, hovering, and Harry tries not to react when he feels Louis duck down to press kisses along the line of his jaw, because shit, that feels good, and even though he’s mad he just wants to lick into Louis’ mouth again, taste the mint tea on Louis’ tongue. Louis sighs, nosing along the line of Harry’s cheekbone, “I really fucking love you, mate.” 

“You’re such a prick,” Harry says, but the words have no weight behind them at all—they fall out of his mouth like snow shaken from a tree, melting once they touch skin. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Fuck that,” Louis laughs, “I put up with _you_.” 

Harry grins at that, he can’t even help it, and then he’s turning over again so that he’s staring straight up at Louis. The way the moonlight comes in—in flashes, broken up by the storm—makes Harry think of a black and white projector flickering in the dark, of a classroom where the edges of each body is blurred, where the edges of Louis’ body is blurred. It makes Harry think of a time, seven years ago now, where he sat in the back row of a dim classroom and all he could think about was the soft curve of Louis’ mouth.

And hell, things haven’t changed much at all, have they?

“Kiss me,” Harry says, because he wants Louis closer. 

He always wants Louis closer, is the thing. Closer and closer and closer.

“So demanding,” Louis teases, but then he’s dipping down slowly and kissing Harry anyways. 

His mouth is soft, all honey-warm, and the kiss is soft and sleepy and slow, both of them burrowing down into the quilts as the moonlight steals slowly over the wooden walls of the bedroom. It’s a pins and needles feeling as Harry grins against Louis’ mouth, their bodies moving together again, and his head is swimming so he can’t really make out his own thoughts over the string of Louis, Louis, Louis filling up his mind like smoke, like thunder.

“We _should_ get married,” Harry breathes, when the whole world is a kaleidoscope of moonlit squares and snow pelting against glass. When the world is a blur of Louis, Louis’ teeth on Harry’s lips, Louis’ teeth on Harry’s neck, the snowfall, white stars and frosted pine trees. “Don’t you think we should get married?”

Louis laughs, shaking his head, and Harry should know what he’s about to say before he says it, but somehow he misses it, somehow he forgets, but then Louis kisses him again and speaks the words into Harry’s mouth, and he’s back in a crowded gym with pale white helium balloons and electric blue light. 

“Not a chance in hell, Curly.”

♡

When Harry blinks awake, the bedroom is all soft and honey-colored.  


Squinting against the light, Harry frowns at the empty space beside him. The sheets are still warm from Louis’ body, and now that it’s morning, everything is a lot easier to make out.

There’s the paneled wood walls, a big square window across from the bed—curtains turned blush pink by the sun—and then there’s a few pictures hanging up beside the door leading out into the hall. Mostly dumb pictures of him and Gemma as kids, one of him and Louis at prom that Harry put up there during a winter a few years ago where him and Louis didn’t speak at all. It’s just a wall of little moments, little snap shots that are all washed out in Harry’s memories, that have all been made blurry by passing time. 

Harry sighs, shutting his eyes again. 

He has no clue at all what time it is, but it seems way too early and everything seems way too bright, the muffled clinking noise of pots and pans floating up from the kitchen downstairs. Harry grins a bit at that, his eyes still closed. There’s Louis’ voice and then Anne’s laughter, a muffled sound, and Harry wonders when Louis became such a big part of his life—not just the planet he orbits around, but the moon he comes home to.

Sighing softly again, Harry rests an arm over his eyes, and everything suddenly becomes darker. 

But it’s the kind of dark where he can still tell it’s daytime because the blackness is all soft and orange tinged, and the sunlight slanting in through the open bedroom window is warm on his face, on his bare legs. Here, in the tangerine darkness behind his closed eyes, he ends up thinking about last night, about how Louis had laughed into his mouth and said the same thing he said years ago, at prom, when Harry was a boy with eyes too big for his face, with eyes that could only ever see Louis. _Not a chance in hell, Curly._

The thing is, Harry’s not sure if Louis’ just teasing or not.

It’s quite pathetic, actually, how badly Harry really does want to get married. Like, he never thought about it before, the whole marriage thing—he didn’t even know he was the type of person that gave a shit, but now that the idea is sitting right in front of him, he just wants to reach out and take it. 

“Ah, such a sleepy baby,” Someone says a while later, and Harry grins suddenly at the sound but keeps his arm firmly rested over his eyes anyways, listening to the sound of Louis’ footsteps as he comes closer, small sounds muffled by the carpeted floor. “I miss you when you’re not running around to terrorize me, you know.” 

“'M not a baby,” Harry says, and his words come out all blurry around the edges as he grins, eyes still shut behind his arm. “And I never terrorize you.”

The mattress dips a little then, and Harry’s nerve endings light up like a Christmas tree, sudden and out of nowhere, because he can feel Louis hovering over him on all fours, crawling upwards on the bed until he stops moving, and Harry can feel Louis’ stare on his face even with his eyes shut—it’s a feeling he’s memorized over the years, a feeling he’s gotten used to, a feeling that he misses when it’s not there. It’s like, in a sea of people, Harry can always tell if Louis’ close by, can always tell if he’ll come closer on the next wave. 

“Liar,” Louis laughs, a soft, almost far away sound. “What do you call this, then?” He asks, and then he makes his voice go all high pitched as he pretends to be Harry. “ _Louis, kiss me, I want you to kiss me, Louis. Louis, come here, come here, I miss you. I love you, Louis, I want to kiss you. Oh Louis, I love you so much_.” 

Harry laughs, can’t even help it, and then he moves his arm away from his eyes finally, blinking against the sunlight as he looks up at Louis—Louis, whose eyes are bluer than the ocean, bluer than the sky in the middle of space. He’s staring down at Harry fondly, his hair wild and sleep tousled, and the sunlight softens the edges of his face.

“I never terrorize you,” Harry repeats, voice slow as he grins lazily, his body burning like a white fire beneath Louis’ gaze. “I just love you a whole lot.”

“See?” Louis laughs, eyes crinkling, and Harry ends up smiling even though he’s trying not to. Louis sighs, but he’s grinning, straddling Harry’s hips and ducking down a bit lower, lower and lower until their faces are just inches apart. “You’re an absolute terror. And you make me think all these really fucked up things, too.” 

“Do I?” Harry asks, laughing a bit. “What kind of fucked up things?”

“Things like,” Louis starts, leaning back a bit with a sort of thoughtful look on his face. Harry smiles but he stays quiet, just watching Louis, his veins buzzing like electric waves. He just wants to kiss Louis on the mouth, because he hasn’t done that yet today, and his lips feel all swollen like Louis’ been kissing him this whole time. Louis sighs again, and Harry keeps smiling. “I’d fight off a bear for you, maybe.” 

“A bear?” Harry asks, laughing. “So specific.” 

“I'd fight a shark too,” Louis says, and his fingers are gentle around Harry’s neck. “So shut your mouth.”

“Shut it for me,” Harry replies, smiling even wider. 

“I’d rob a bank for you,” Louis continues, laughing. “I mean, if you really needed the money, I’d do it, mate. I’d steal a bike from a small child for you too, like if you lost your car or something and couldn’t drive anywhere.”

“Why not carry me around on your back?” Harry asks, and he can’t stop smiling because even if Louis’ a bloody idiot more than half the time, Harry’s still so in love with him that it hurts. Louis rolls his eyes and Harry laughs, saying, “Or like, you could get a kangaroo pouch and then jump around with me in it.”

“You are so weird,” Louis says, completely serious.

“Am not,” Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling as he smiles up at Louis. The sunlight is still so bright, lighting up the loose strands of Louis’ hair, making the bedroom into a honey colored daydream. Harry grins and asks, “What if I broke my leg and couldn’t walk anymore? Would you turn into a lion and carry me in your mouth?”

“Of course,” Louis says, “I love having you in my mouth.”

“That is so inappropriate,” Harry laughs, and he can’t quite believe he’s talking to the same Louis that was captain of the football team at their high school, the same Louis that he got high with on a night where the sky was an ink purple haze, bedroom brightened by flashes of lightning. The thing is, Harry likes Louis even more than he did then, which is crazy, it’s just so crazy. 

Grinning, Harry places his arm back over his eyes again.

“Hey,” Louis says, “come back.”

“And you say I terrorize you,” Harry grins, shaking his head.

“I don’t terrorize you, Harry,” Louis says, and Harry exhales a breath as he feels Louis duck down and brush his mouth over the inner jut of his wrist, a feeling that sends heat all the way down Harry’s spine. When Louis speaks, his voice is muffled against Harry’s skin. “I just love you a whole fucking lot.”

“Thanks, pal,” Harry says, keeping his eyes closed. 

Louis just laughs, shifting a bit over Harry, and Harry makes a small sound that gets stuck at the back of his throat. All of a sudden Louis’ moving Harry’s arm away from his face and ducking down beneath it, ducking down until it’s just Harry and Louis and Harry’s arm resting over Louis’ neck now instead. 

He opens up his eyes again and Louis’ so close that his features are blurry and out of focus, eyelashes looking like nothing but wet stars. And Harry can feel every place where they’re touching—at the hips, Louis’ hand in Harry’s hair, Louis sitting over Harry’s thighs. The rest of him is nothing but smoke, nothing but rain or melting snow.

“Kiss me,” Harry says, his voice soft, serious. 

There’s a moment of silence that’s broken up by the sound of Anne laughing downstairs, followed by the clinking of silverware, and Louis looks over towards the door before looking back down at Harry, his face thoughtful.

“Now why would I go and do that?” He asks, but he’s grinning. 

“Because,” Harry starts, and then he’s pulling Louis down towards him, lower and lower until they’re so close that they’re sharing the same breath, Louis tasting like a blur of honey and mint tea and toothpaste, Louis tasting like Louis, like everything Harry couldn’t live without. He opens his mouth and Louis moans into it softly, both of them cozy and dressed in jumpers—Harry wearing nothing but briefs on the bottom, Louis wearing a pair of worn out gray sweats. Harry smiles and whispers his words into Louis’ mouth, the only place where he could ever put anything good. “You like having me in your mouth.”

Louis laughs, and the sunlight turns it into a dream-like sound as he kisses Harry finally, Harry letting his mouth fall open, Louis licking over his bottom lip. “See,” he says, kissing over Harry’s chin, over his nose, his cheekbones, his eyelids, his eyelashes, his kisses meaning different things in every language. His kisses meaning I love you, and good morning, and reste avec moi. Harry smiles into the kiss and Louis shakes his head, both of them falling down into the bed sheets like lost sailors into the ocean. “You’re an absolute terror.” 

Yeah, they fall into the bed sheets, but they’re not lost—they’re here.

♡

Downstairs in the kitchen, everything seems brighter than the sun.

Harry blinks, rubbing the backs of his eyes as he follows Louis into the kitchen, their socked feet padding across the cold wooden floor. Anne’s at the kitchen sink, listening to Frank Sinatra the way she always does on Sunday mornings, and the sliding glass door that leads out onto the porch is covered in frost.

Harry can just make out the picnic table outside, the glass surface all blanketed in snow, and he grins when he notices the small fairy lights wrapped around the porch railing.  


They’re turned off, of course, but he remembers a night years ago—the first night Louis ever came to this place—when the sky was a pitch black ocean and the stars looked like glaciers that broke apart in a rough tide. They’d been broken up then, him and Louis, and they were in their second year of college. Harry thought it was over, because Louis left and Harry had been trying to see other people, but the fairy lights were all warm and golden, casting pale shadows over Louis’ face, and it made it impossible for Harry to do anything other than kiss him again, anything other than lick into his mouth and warm him up, call him home. Because he is home, Louis is. 

And now Harry’s here, more in love than he’s ever been, and it’s good.

He’s here, he’s with Louis, and it’s so fucking good. 

“Morning, mum,” Harry greets, his voice smudged with sleep. 

It smells like cinnamon in here, like cinnamon and strawberries and vanilla. Harry’s stomach growls, and he frowns. 

“Oh, hi babe,” Anne greets, smiling over her shoulder. She’s washing dishes at the kitchen sink, hair tied up as soap suds splash around her arms, and Harry grins at the way the sunlight makes her look all soft, her skin like honey. The window over the sink is open and letting in cool air, and outside, there’s nothing but snow and pine trees. Anne sighs, turning off the tap before wiping her wet hands across her apron. “It’s nice to see you boys. I sent Louis up quite a while ago, I was almost beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

Harry smiles, because his mum still thinks he’s a boy even though he’s twenty four years old. It’s sort of nice.

“Haz attacked me, sorry to say,” Louis replies, but he’s laughing as he stops to stand beside Harry, wrapping an arm around Harry’s neck and then pulling him in, closer and closer until Louis’ pressing a small kiss against his temple. “He’s a monster.”

“What are you saying!” Harry laughs, pushing away from Louis with wide eyes. “You attacked _me_.” 

“Oh my, you two are just so precious,” Anne smiles, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest. There’s a vase of flowers beside the sink, bright orange and red and yellow, a small fire. Everything seems warm and bright and Harry smiles, listening to the soft strains of Frank Sinatra on the radio.

 _Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars_. 

Anne gives Louis a look, nowhere close to not obvious, and suddenly Louis’ tensing at Harry’s side, rubbing small circles over Harry’s back, just between his shoulder blades, still warming Harry’s skin even with the knitted sweater he has on. “Oh, I forgot,” Louis says, and his voice sounds strange, happy but a bit on edge, like he’s nervous about something. “I made you breakfast, babe.”

Harry laughs at that, because alright, yeah, now he gets why Louis would be nervous. Seriously, Louis never makes breakfast. Ever. Harry’s the one who works at a bakery, so he’s usually left in charge of anything breakfast related, but he’s excited about whatever Louis made. It probably tastes like shit, if Harry’s to be totally honest—even more honest, though, is the fact that Harry will like it even if it does taste like shit, and he’ll like it because Louis made it, and just because Harry’s that ridiculously, pathetically in love. 

Niall and Zayn call him whipped sometimes, but Harry thinks he’s just being a good pal to Louis. Anyone else would be the same.

“Don’t be so excited,” Louis says.

“Wait, really? You made breakfast?” Harry asks, laughing suddenly, and Louis just rolls his eyes. 

“I can do things from time to time, thank you.”

Harry grins, watching as Louis makes his way over to the breakfast nook at the other side of the kitchen, pale sunlight slanting in through the curtains and casting squares of light over the table top, over the wooden floors. “What did you make, Lou? Toast?”

“You’re such a shit, you know,” Louis says, but he’s grinning, shaking his head as he stands in front of the kitchen table, the sunlight softening the lines of his face. “And no, I didn’t make toast. I burnt that last time, remember? Your mum helped me with it, too.”

“Did you really?” Harry grins, his eyes widening as he glances over at his mum, who’s now smiling at Harry from behind her hands.

“It was Louis’ idea,” she shrugs, smiling.

“That’s my boy,” Harry says, mostly teasing.

“Screw that,” Louis laughs, loud and sudden, a sound that shakes Harry’s heart up like a hurricane. “You’re _my_ boy.”

“Same thing,” Harry says, because it really is the same thing, isn’t it? 

He thinks that maybe they’re each other’s boys and maybe it’s been that way since the day that they met. Sighing, he starts making his way over towards the place where Louis’ standing by the breakfast nook, arms crossed over his chest. And it’s nice. It’s nice because last night when him and Louis first got here, the house was pitch black and silent, broken up only by the ticking of a clock, moonlight washing in and making everything hard to see. But now that it’s daytime, the whole place is easy to make out, and it’s nice to know that nothing’s changed at all. 

The pots are still hanging from the ceiling, and the blue and white china dishes that Harry gave Anne when she married Robin are still sitting in the pantry beside the fridge, and there’s still that worn down mat in front of the sink. Everything looks good.

“I can take you for a tour later, mate, come on,” Louis sighs. 

“Hey, shut up,” Harry replies, finally reaching the table.

“So in love,” Anne sighs wistfully, and she’s teasing but Harry laughs because yeah, she’s right, isn’t she? Sitting down in the seat across from Louis’, Harry winces as the chair legs scrape across the wooden floors, and then Anne’s clapping her hands together with a sigh. “I think I feel like a bath.”

“Better than feeling like a toilet,” Harry jokes, grinning wide.

“You’re not serious,” Louis says blankly, staring down at Harry from where he’s still standing beside the kitchen table. His eyes look bright when the sunlight plays over his face like that, and Harry knows that Louis’ about to insult him but he’s smiling anyways. Louis blinks. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

“What?” Harry asks. “It was a bit funny, wasn’t it? ‘Cause she said she felt like a bath so I thought—”

“I know what you thought,” Louis sighs. “And you know what I think, Sunshine? I think you’ve got a sense of humor so advanced that none of us can understand it. You’re mysterious. I like that about you.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, smiling wide. “I like everything about you.”

“Such charming boys,” Anne says suddenly, smiling softly, and then she’s tossing her apron over her shoulder and making her way towards the doorway that leads out into the hall. “Alright, time for my bath. I love you both.”

“Love you,” Louis says, just as Harry says, “Love you, mum.”

And then she’s gone, her footsteps disappearing as she turns the corner and then disappears down the hall. Harry wonders again when the hell this happened, when Louis stopped being a star and became the whole damn sky. He likes it, he thinks. He likes it a lot.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since, like, forever ago,” Harry says once his mum is gone from the kitchen, for no reason at all, for no reason other than just letting Louis know. He watches with fond eyes as Louis grabs a tray from the counter and then comes back to sit down across from him, a scarf wrapped tight around his neck even though they’re inside. Harry’s sat right next to the window, and past it, everything is silvery and frosted and blanketed in snow, the backyard stretching out into the woods and then disappearing. Beyond the trees there’s the frozen lake, but he can’t make it out from here. 

“Forever ago?” Louis repeats, almost laughing as he crosses his arms over the table. The sunlight washes over his face, and his skin looks like honey, like it’d be good to taste. “That’s quite vague.”

“Not vague. Mysterious,” Harry says, but the truth is that he’s been wanting to kiss Louis since the second they stopped, because it’s a loss of warmth, and it’s a loss of heat, and it’s just a whole shit load of wanting. “And you said you liked that about me.”

“You know, this is why I don’t ever compliment you,” Louis says, but he’s grinning as he hands Harry a glass of lemon and ice water. Harry takes it, and it’s cold against his fingers, but he gulps down a few sips before setting the cup back down on the table. “It goes straight to your bloody head.”

Harry pretends to frown, but his body feels warm like the sun. 

“Aw, my baby’s grumpy,” Louis jokes, one half of his face lit up by the pale light washing in from the window, the pale light striking at the dust in the air. Louis tilts his head to the side, and he’s got eyes deep enough to swim in. “Do I need to feed you?”

“No, Louis, you don’t need to feed me,” Harry sighs, even though he’s trying not to smile. “I swear you literally think I’m twelve.”

“You’re close to that,” Louis grins.

“I’m _double_ that,” Harry corrects, and he’s trying to be serious but his mouth keeps quirking up the way it always does when Louis’ looking at him like that, like Harry’s doing something funny even though he’s just sitting there. “You’re a mess.”

“I’m a mess for you, little man,” Louis replies, grinning.

“Little man,” Harry repeats, voice slow. “Really, Lou? Little man?”

“Yeah, I just thought of it now,” Louis smiles, looking quite pleased with himself. Harry shakes his head, taking another sip of his water, and he thinks it’s pretty funny that he’s taller than Louis and yet he’s still considered a baby at least three quarters of the time. It’s not fair. Louis sighs, still smiling. “It’s quite clever, isn’t it?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “You’re just the funniest.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, and then he’s opening up the little silver tray in the middle of the table and pushing it towards Harry with a smile. “Here,” he says, “breakfast.”

Harry blinks, looking down, and oh. Louis’ made cinnamon buns. 

Like, huge cinnamon buns—four of them—with icing and then icing sugar and then sliced strawberries on top. It smells bloody amazing, a blur of cinnamon and brown sugar and something else that reminds Harry of Christmas, and he grins up at Louis, who’s watching him with careful eyes. “You made cinnamon buns?” Harry asks.

Louis nods, watchful. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re brilliant,” Harry answers, more honest than he meant to be. It’s not the most complex breakfast in the world—Harry makes them a few times a week at the bakery—but it’s just. It means a lot. And it’s true, what he said about Louis being brilliant. He really thinks Louis is the most brilliant thing in the world, he thinks Louis is the funniest and the nicest and just the best. Sometimes he thinks they were best mates in a past life or something, and that’s why this all came so easy to him, like breathing. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” Louis says, and he’s smiling again, the kind of smile that goes straight to Harry’s toes. “I just thought it was perfect, you know, because you’re sort of like a cinnamon bun, H.”

Harry makes a face, trying not to smile again. “Please, count the ways.”

“You know,” Louis starts, sighing like it should be obvious. Snow is starting to fall down outside in little flurries, pelting against the glass of the kitchen window, and Harry feels the draft coming in through the window above the sink. He keeps his eyes on Louis though, watching as Louis says, “You’re sweet, you’re small, and you’re curly like the swirls on a cinnamon bun. Makes perfect sense to me.”

“’M not small,” Harry says, but he’s smiling, of course he is.

Louis hums and Harry picks up a cinnamon bun and places it down on his plate, licking the icing off his fingers with a small groan. 

“Your table manners are horrendous,” Louis says, and then he’s standing up, picking up the newspaper on the counter before sitting back down across from Harry again and pushing it towards him. “Here, something to read.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, placing it off to the side of the table.

“Hey, you’re supposed to read that,” Louis frowns.

“But I’m not finished eating yet,” Harry says slowly, his eyes steady on Louis’ as he forks at his cinnamon bun then bites off a piece. 

“No, H, come on,” Louis says, picking up the paper again and pushing it towards Harry. “There’s this really hilarious bit at the back where some lad apologizes to his new wife Michelle for mysteriously not being around every night of the week. Classic, I’m telling you.”

Harry makes a face, but then he sighs as he picks up the newspaper.

“Good boy,” Louis grins, and Harry laughs despite himself.

He flips open the newspaper, keeps flipping and flipping until he’s near the back, because that’s where Louis said the funny bit was. 

“I still don’t get what’s more important than food,” He says, and he can feel Louis’ eyes on his face, but he ignores that, because if he doesn’t ignore it then he’ll end up feeling like his face is on fire. 

“Sssh, baby. Read. You’ll like it, I swear.” 

Harry sticks his tongue out at Louis, but does as he’s told because it’s Louis, and if Louis thinks he’ll like it, he knows he will. Scanning down the page, he starts to grin because there it is, right there in small print beside a little turquoise bullet point. 

Harry reads it out loud, following the words with his finger. 

“Thank you to my new wife, Michelle, who’s been by herself this week as I’ve been working late every night. I’ll make it up to you,” Harry finishes, and then he grins. “Ivan sent that in via text, apparently. This is gripping news, babe, thanks for sharing.”

“Don’t be a shit,” Louis laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Keep reading. I think it gets quite good.” 

“Alright,” Harry sighs, moving onto the next one. “Thanks to the lovely lady at Heathrow Terminal Five who let a stranded, young girl use her phone,” Harry nods, glancing up at Louis with a smile. “That one’s from K in London. What a lovely name.”

“It does have a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?” Louis agrees, and then, “Go on, then.”

Harry grins, just looking at Louis before looking down at the paper on the table. It takes a moment for him to remember where he left off, but then his finger is back on the words, and his voice is falling out into the room, slow, like honey. “Thank you Styles,” he starts, and then pauses, his eyebrows furrowing together in concentration. “Uh, thank you Styles for the eggs on toast every day. Marry me?” He finishes, and then he’s silent for a moment, listening to the snow outside and the whistling of the kettle on the stove. Harry swallows, and his heart is pounding on his tongue as he looks up at Louis, his face serious. “It says it’s from Boo in London.” 

“Sounds like a charming lad, that Boo,” Louis replies.

“Lou,” Harry says, his voice slow as he glances back down at the paper, running his finger over the words again. Marry me, marry me, marry me. He remembers a time in college when he found out Jay used to call Louis Boo Bear when he was little, and then he’d introduce Louis to everyone as Boo. Louis hated him for it, of course, but it usually ended up with them snogging in the dorm toilets, so it’s like. No loss there. But this—there’s no way this is real. “Louis, did you do this?” 

Louis stays quiet for a moment, just watching Harry, and then it’s just Harry’s heart pounding in his ears, his mouth thick like it’s full of stars. The kettle is still whistling on the stove and Harry feels like his heart’s about to burst or like he’s about to fall over or something.

“I’d like to have you in my life forever, yeah,” Louis says finally.

And fuck, now Harry really feels like he’s about to fall over. He feels dizzy in the best kind of way, the wintry morning sunlight slanting in through the window and making him feel like he’s in some sort of fever dream that doesn’t make any sense. Because this doesn’t make any sense, that’s the thing. Harry has no idea when he starting loving Louis for real—loving Louis like he’d die if he didn’t, like he’d drown. But he could always feel it, now that he looks back—it was always there. His love for Louis was like a private constellation, a star growing inside of his belly, bigger and bigger until the light spilt out onto his tongue. And the light stayed, and it’s here right now, and it’s making him nod, frantic and rushed like he doesn’t have enough time. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Louis repeats, his eyes widening.

“Yes,” Harry says again, just to taste it. And then he says it once more, just because, because it’s the answer to every question that Louis could ever ask. Do you love me? Do you want me? Forever and even past that? Yes, yes, yes. “Yes, I’ll fucking marry you. Shit.”

The room seems to freeze when Harry speaks the words, and they just look at each other for a moment, a moment that’s all silent and snow-filled, a clock ticking somewhere in the house. Harry catches everything, tucking pieces of this moment away in his memory—the way sunlight shifts over Louis’ face in soft patterns, his eyelashes casting shadows like angel webs across his cheekbones. He notices the way Louis’ mouth is slightly open, pink and rosy in the morning light, and suddenly, pathetically, Harry wants to kiss him again.

Louis stands up, says, “Harry,” and that’s all it takes, really.

Harry’s out of his chair in an instant, making his way over to Louis with his heart pounding in his throat. There’s that dizzy feeling again, like he’s on a slow moving carousel and everything around him is blurring out of focus, leaving just him and Louis and the snow, him and Louis and the frosted pine trees, and the fairy lights that look like blinking stars.

“I want you too,” Harry says, and then he’s letting Louis crowd him in against the backyard door, the glass cold and frosted against his skin. Louis’ body is warm and Harry fists a hand in the back of Louis’ jumper, pulling him close. “I want you in this life and maybe even the next one.”

“What you mean _maybe_?” Louis asks, trying not to grin.

“If you still look as good, I mean,” Harry finishes, but he’s teasing, of course he is. He thinks he’d still love Louis if Louis was a mouse and Harry was a house cat, and he thinks he’d still love Louis if Louis was the sun and Harry was the moon. He’d leave one side of the world pitch black just to be by Louis’ side.

“So charming,” Louis grins, but then he’s exhaling sharply as Harry bites at his bottom lip, laughing into Louis’ mouth as Louis kisses back, fast and then faster, Harry’s body becoming nothing but a kaleidoscope of stars and snow and blood, blood buzzing through his veins like static, buzzing in his ears, so loud that it’s nothing but a swimming sound that spells out Louis, Louis, Louis. 

“Oh, wait—” Louis says, his voice sudden, rushed.

Harry blinks, frowning as Louis shoves his hand into one of his back pockets and pulls out a little velvet box the color of raspberries. Harry stares at it for a moment, and then the reality of everything rushes into place, and he laughs, loud and bold. “No fucking way.”

Louis makes a face. “It’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it?”

Harry nods, still giggling. “Well, yeah, but like—”

“Just shut up and give me your hand, would you?” Louis sighs, and he’s trying to sound tired but Harry can tell that he’s more fond than anything else, the corners of his mouth tilting up into a grin. “I don’t have all day.”

“Yes you do,” Harry says, but he holds out his hand anyways.

And there’s a moment where Harry literally thinks his heart stops. 

It’s the moment when Louis opens up the ring box and the gold inside catches the light of the sun, and Harry suddenly realizes that this is real, this is real life and he’s getting married to the one boy he’s loved since the eleventh grade. 

“Shit,” Harry breathes, his voice barely a whisper.

He watches as Louis slides the ring onto his finger, a thick gold band lined in silver, and Harry’s heart is beating so fast he can feel it on his tongue. He can’t stop looking at it, moving his hand around in front of his face like it’ll evaporate the second he looks away, and then he frowns when he catches the weird looking scribble etched into the side of it. It almost looks like a little mountain or something.

“What do you think?” Louis asks suddenly, his voice cautious.

“What’s this on the side?” Harry questions, eyebrows furrowed down at the ring. The squiggles actually look sort of cool, so maybe that’s why Louis bought the ring in the first place.

“Oh,” Louis says, and he looks almost embarrassed. “It’s my voice.”

Harry doesn’t get it. “Your voice?”

“Yep,” Louis nods, scratching at the back of his neck. He squints against the sunlight, and Harry feels like kissing him on the mouth again, but he figures that can wait two more minutes. “It’s like, the sound wave of it? Or of me, you know. Talking to you.”

“No fucking way!” Harry shouts, laughing, and he knows he keeps saying that but it’s like, he has Louis’ voice on his hand now. Like, it’s gonna be there forever. That’s magic. “What did you say?”

“I said thanks,” Louis shrugs, and Harry blinks.

“Thanks for what?”

“For being my home,” Louis finishes, and he laughs when he sees the look on Harry’s face. “Shut up, that’s what I said, honestly. I said, Thank you, Harry, for being my home. Exact words.”

“Fuck,” Harry says, a bit blown. “That’s—I really like you.”

Louis smiles. “That’s good to know.”

“Did you do it, did you do it?” Someone says suddenly, and Harry turns to see his mum walking back into the kitchen, her hands covering her eyes. “Just yell if you want me to go.”

“I did it, Anne,” Louis says, and Anne’s eyes snap open.

“You did it?” She repeats, her bright green stare flickering between Harry and Louis. Her cucumber mask is still on her face, and she’s still wearing her floral sleep robe which means she hasn’t actually gotten into the bath yet, and a fuzzy white towel is wrapped tight around her head. “Oh my god,” she says, hand moving down to cover her mouth instead, and she’s grinning so wide that Harry starts laughing, because his mum is such a mum, and she looks so happy that it’s almost hysterical. “You did it! You did it, oh my god, I thought for sure you’d chicken out!” Anne laughs, practically crying as she jumps around in the doorway. “What did he say? Did he say yes? Tell me everything!”

“Uh, Mum, I’m right here,” Harry says, lifting his hand up in a wave. 

“Oh, right. Sorry love,” she replies, and her bloody laugh is actually contagious, the corners of Harry’s mouth tilting up before he even realizes that he’s smiling. “What did you say? Tell me everything!”

“I said yes,” Harry answers, glancing over at Louis with a smile.

Louis smiles back, soft and slow, the sunlight lighting the edges of his hair on fire. Outside, there are icicles hanging from the porch railing, but inside, it feels so fucking warm. Harry feels Louis’ smile like an electric shock to his nerves, every single part of him lighting up. His cheeks are flushed red, and he can’t stop smiling, because there’s no way this is happening. There’s just no way. He just can’t believe it.

“You said yes?” Anne repeats, and she stops jumping around for a second, but her eyes are still so wide that they look like pale green moons. Harry nods, and Louis laughs, and Anne screams, running across the cold kitchen tile to hug both of them. “Oh my god!” she shouts, kissing Harry’s temple and then kissing Louis’ cheek. Louis’ hand is resting on the dip of Harry’s lower back, and Harry suddenly wants Louis’ hands everywhere. “My babies are getting married!”

Laughing, Harry nudges her shoulder. “So you knew about this?”

“Of course I did, you silly goose,” Anne grins, kissing them both on the forehead again. “Louis was going crazy, my goodness! That boy was all nerves.”

“Aw, you were nervous?” Harry asks, turning towards Louis. He grins, tilting his head to the side. “That’s quite cute.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “I was not.”

Harry laughs, and then it’s just him and Louis and Anne all huddled together in the kitchen, sunlight washing in through the sliding backyard door and making everything feel sleepy and warm but also exciting, so exciting that Harry can’t even take it.

“So, when is the royal wedding, boys?” Anne asks after a moment of silence, breaking apart from the huddle to walk over to the counter. “I’ve called Jay and the girls, they’re excited. And the second half of your circle will be here sometime tonight, I believe.”

Harry pouts, thoughtful. “How about this Saturday?”

Louis’ eyes widen, and his laugh is like a gust of wind. He crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “H, that’s in three days,” he says. “Haven’t you ever seen those wedding shows on telly? It takes those people like, months to plan everything.”

“But I want to do it right away,” Harry says, and then he smiles dramatically at Louis, batting his eyelashes once. “It makes sense, you know, ’cause I loved you right away, too.”

“Always the charmer,” Louis says, shaking his head.

Harry laughs. “I try my best.”

“Well, then,” Anne says, clapping her hands together with a smile, so big it takes up her whole face. Harry glances over at her to see her looking at the both of them with stars in her eyes, the cold air still washing in from the window over the sink. Anne puts her hands on her hips, looking proud even through her face mask. “I’ll start the planning tonight.”

♡

The rest of the day passes by in a dream.

It feels heady and remote—distant, like when Harry has a few drinks and his vision starts to blur around the edges, every word sounding slow and far away. He likes it, and he also likes the sound of the raindrops pelting against the roof, the way the stormy light is stealing slowly over the walls. It’s nice. Calming, almost.

Sighing, Harry rests his forehead against the kitchen window.

The glass is cold against his skin, and outside, the sky is darkening into a heavy sort of gray, a color that seems light against the frosted pine trees. He wonders where his mum is. She left sometime around noon to pick up the lads from the airport, and usually Harry would have offered to do that job, but it was raining and Louis’ truck does a terrible bloody job in storms. So, he’s here.

“God, Stan. Sometimes I really think you’re dense, you know that?” Someone shouts, and Harry laughs quietly at the sound of Louis’ voice. He turns towards the doorway that leads out into the hall, straining to hear what Louis’ saying. “No, for real, mate. We’re getting—yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! We’re getting married!”

Harry grins, shaking his head. “Oh, god.”

He never really spoke to Stan in high school, if he’s honest—Stan was in Zayn’s group, and Harry didn’t even start speaking to Zayn until after his second year of college—but Stan’s a nice lad.

Fuck, though, Harry’s really starting to miss Louis. 

It’s only been fifteen minutes and it’s not like Louis’ gone far, he’s only upstairs—but here, in this empty cottage kitchen with the rain hitting down against the roof, upstairs seems so far away, somehow. Louis needs to just get back downstairs already, because Harry’s going mad being all on his own.

Sighing again, he rests his forehead back against the window.

The rain is falling down towards the earth in sheets, a smudge of a storm growing darker on the horizon, and Harry lets himself sink into the sound. Again, he thinks that he really misses Louis.

A moment later, there’s the sound of footsteps on the stairs, growing closer and closer and closer and—

“Oh my god,” someone says, and Harry turns to see Louis standing in the kitchen doorway with his mouth half open, blue eyes amused like he finds something hilarious about Harry sitting alone in an empty room. Harry smiles just from seeing him, and Louis looks really good right now, he notices. His hair is tucked back beneath a beanie and he’s wearing rain boots even though they’re inside, dim stormy light stealing over his face in flashes. “You are so _boring_.”

“I’m never bored when you’re around,” Harry says, smiling wide.

“I said boring, not bored, mate. There’s a difference,” Louis replies, his arms crossed over his chest as he walks into the room. He’s like a little sun, bringing warmth with him as he moves closer and closer. Shrugging, he glances at Harry. “You gonna paint the scenery for me or what?”

Harry laughs, shakes his head. “Only if you’re in it.”

“Paint me like one of your French girls, Jack,” Louis sings, grinning.

“Shut up,” Harry says, rubbing his hands over his face and trying not to smile. The wooden floors are cold against his bare feet, and he crosses his arms over the kitchen table before looking back over at Louis, who’s still leaning back against the kitchen sink. “It’s raining. There’s nothing to do when it’s raining.”

Louis hums at that, thoughtful, and Harry’s once again struck by how fucking lovely he is. He’s just—he’s the best thing ever. He’s Louis, the same boy who Harry used to watch play football on pitch black nights when the field lights looked like stars, when the audience was like a sea and Harry was just learning how to float. 

He’s Louis, and Harry loves him. 

“Oh, I’ve got an idea,” Louis says finally, clapping his hands together. “We could have some ice cream and then lick it out of each other’s mouths? Or I could lick it off all four of your nipples? How’s that?”

He’s teasing, so Harry pretends to frown even though the corners of his mouth are tilting up anyways. “Aw, but we did that last night.”

“Right, I’ll keep it interesting,” Louis grins. “Let’s go for a drive.”

_♡_

“Okay,” Louis says a little while later, once they’re standing in the mudroom bundled up in rain-boots and scarves and winter coats. It’s April, so technically it should be warmer, but it’s not. It’s rainy as hell and everything is still covered in snow and slush, melting icicles on branches letting the sunlight shine through. “We’re gonna run on the count of three, you ready?”

“What if I slip and fall?” Harry asks, frowning slightly.

Louis sighs, shaking his head. “Then I’ll turn into a lion and carry you in my mouth, of course.”

Harry laughs, the sound echoing in the small space. It’s cozy in here, in the mudroom at the front of the cabin—all of the walls are wooden except for the one that they’re facing, which is just a glass screen door that leads out onto the drive. There’s a pile of firewood sitting just a few feet away from the bottom porch step, and the rain is falling down so fast that it’s slanting sideways. Harry can just make out the blurry shape of Louis’ truck sitting in the mouth of the woods. It’s bright orange, dented in some places, but it seems so bloody far away and Harry doesn’t think he can make it.

“Can’t we just stay here?” Harry asks, turning back towards Louis.

It smells like firewood and they’re so close in the cramped room, the fronts of their jackets brushing together as they stand in place. Rain pelts against the roof, against the screen door, and Harry feels warm with Louis so close by. But when Louis just stares at him, his mouth dropped open in a way that’s somehow hysterically accusing, Harry frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?” He asks, glancing outside. “It looks cold out there.”

“You’re a right mess, you know that?” Louis says, a laugh bursting out of him, a laugh that makes Harry smile in response, even though Louis’ trying to be mean to him. “Listen here, Curly. You are getting in that bloody truck if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Really?” Harry grins. “That’s the last thing you’d do?”

Louis pauses, almost like he’s lost track of the words, and then a second later he shrugs, smiling softly. The pale light from outside swims over his face, softening the edges of it. “Well, I’d kiss you senseless afterwards, but I can’t tell you nice things like that, see,” he answers, and then he taps Harry’s temple once with his mitted fist. “It all goes straight to here.”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Harry replies, grinning even wider.

“Only ‘cause it’s true,” Louis says, and then, “Oh, wait!”

Before Harry can even say anything, Louis’ turning away, moving towards the shelf a few feet away. He shuffles through it, and Harry watches with a smile as he moves, rummaging through old mitts and scarves. “What are you looking for?”

Louis doesn’t answer, and the pale sun sets the dust on fire.

“Here we go,” he says finally, almost a minute later, walking back towards Harry with a wide grin on his face. Harry blinks, and then suddenly Louis’ right there in front of him, laughing as he shoves an old wool hat over Harry’s head. It smells like mothballs. “Look, you’re so cute now.”

“I was cute before,” Harry says, turning to look in the small mirror hanging on the wall behind him. It’s the kind with the key hook on the bottom, and the edges are rusted but he can still see himself clear. Even more than that, he can see that Louis just put a fucking ear flap hat on Harry’s head. Shaking his head, Harry frowns. “I don’t think this one works with my complexion.” 

“What are you saying? It’s green,” Louis says, suddenly standing in the mirror with his chin on Harry’s shoulder. He’s probably standing on his tiptoes, and it’s a thought that almost makes Harry laugh. Louis pats down the ear flaps, says, “Green always works with a pale face.”

Harry rolls his eyes, grinning into the mirror. “’M not pale.”

Louis makes a face, his eyebrows raised.

Harry frowns, defensive. “It’s winter!”

They’re quite the picture, him and Louis—him and Louis standing in a dim mudroom, the rain hitting against the glass and making the outside world into a blur of green and white and grey. Everything is bright but dark at the same time, the way it always is during a storm, or when you try to take a picture of someone but they’re standing against the sun and every part of them just gets washed out. 

“I hate when you think,” Louis says suddenly, his voice shaking Harry out of his thoughts. “You get all quiet and weird on me.”

Harry laughs at that, catching Louis’ stare in the reflection. “Sorry,” he says. “I was just thinking that everything sort of looks dark and light at the same time right now. ‘Cause of the rain, you know?”

Louis blinks. “You are so fucking strange.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, you were right. I just can’t believe you were entertained by that thought for like, a whole three minutes,” Louis answers, and he’s smiling wide like he’s about to laugh, so Harry smiles back. He can’t even help it. “Alright. Count us in, Haz. And head towards the passenger’s side, ‘cause I’m driving.”

“Why can’t I drive?” Harry says, frowning a bit.

“Because babies can’t drive,” Louis answers, grinning wide, and okay. Harry should definitely have seen that one coming.

Sighing, Harry turns back towards the door. 

The rain is coming down heavy still, slanting sideways and pulling down the pine leaves, so Harry moves forward until he’s just inches away from the glass. It’s cold as hell, but he shivers through it.

“On three,” he starts. “One, two, three—”

They burst out of the cabin like lightning flashing across an ink blue sky, and the screen door rattles behind them as it flings shut. The rain falls down hard, big fat drops like angel kisses, and Harry laughs loudly as he races after Louis, his eyelashes growing thick with rainwater and turning the whole world into an up-close blur. 

He whirls around and there’s trees, the cabin, the truck—

“Hey, wait for me!” Harry shouts, still laughing, the dirt drive wet beneath his booted feet as he runs, heart pounding in his throat. This is what he gets for sticking with a lad that still runs around in circles for fun. Harry feels alive, he feels alive, and overhead the thunder roars. Louis’ already reaching his truck, and Harry suddenly wants to be close to him. 

“Lou, wait up!”

“Come on, H!” Louis yells, hands cupped around his mouth—but he stops moving anyways, and he’s laughing, too. “You’re gonna get us soaked!”

Harry laughs, speeding up at the sound of Louis’ voice, grinning as he wipes water from his eyes. He can feel the rain against his skin—it’s cold as hell, making his teeth chatter, turning his mouth blue. Harry gets closer and then Louis starts running again but this time Harry chases after him, both of them heading towards the driver’s seat. He runs and runs and runs until him and Louis are colliding, their bodies spiralling into the side of Louis’ truck.

The breath leaves Harry in a punch, and he blinks back stars.

“Harry, you shit!” Louis yells, his body shaking with laughter as he crowds in against Harry, the pine trees making a canopy above their heads. The rain soaks through their clothes and Harry shoves back against Louis’ chest, laughing as Louis stumbles a few steps back, his blue eyes wide with amusement. “Hey, don’t push me! Get the fuck back to your side!”

“I don’t like that side!” Harry shouts back, grinning wide.

He rests his head back against the side of Louis’ truck, and he’s freezing, but the sight of Louis is warming him up, somehow—Louis, who’s looking at Harry like Harry’s lost his bloody head. Louis, who looks lovely as all hell with his dark blue windbreaker, with his forest green rain boots and his rosebud mouth. 

“What do you mean?” Louis yells, “What’s wrong with that side?”

Harry blinks against the rain, his heart is beating so fast in his chest that he can hear it over the storm. He doesn’t know how he can handle the rest of his life feeling like this, feeling like he’s floating up into space even though he’s got both feet on the ground. 

It’s crazy, what Louis does to him. It’s absolutely insane.

“What’s wrong with that side?” Louis shouts again, his wet hair dripping into his eyes, and Harry grins.

“You’re not over there!” He yells, his voice carrying out over the storm. He blinks, watching as Louis ducks his head down, running his hands down his face like he’s suddenly annoyed by something. 

“Bloody hell,” Louis says—and Harry shouldn’t be able to hear it because Louis didn’t yell the words, but he hears it anyways, and for a moment his nerves turn into a buzzing blur of static, and for a moment he thinks he’s said something wrong—but then Louis’ sighing and stepping closer, letting the rain fall over him in sheets. His eyes look so blue like this, electric blue like Christmas lights. He eyes Harry’s mouth lazily, says, “Fuck you, I fucking love you.”

Harry laughs, hysterical, and then Louis’ kissing him.

Louis’ kissing him, and Jesus, it feels like it’s been forever since this morning—this morning in the kitchen when Harry breathed out slow into Louis’ mouth and Louis breathed him right in, and they stood in the sunlight and felt at home. The rain is pelting down like little shards of ice, but Harry’s got a small fire inside of him, he thinks, a small fire burning somewhere between the gaps of his ribs, lighting his bones, turning every part of him into a struck match. 

Louis’ hand is up beneath Harry’s jacket, and it’s so warm.

He’s so warm, Louis is, and that makes sense because he’s the sun—he’s the fucking sun and Harry’s so glad that he gets to swallow all that light. Breathing out shakily, Harry laughs as Louis bites down on his bottom lip, white hot heat pooling in the depths of his belly.

Above them, the thunder echoes across the bleak gray sky.

“Your side, go,” Louis says, his shoulders shaking with every breath as he breaks apart from Harry. He blinks, eyelashes thick with water, and there’s only a beat of a second before Harry pulls him right back in, their noses bumping together as their mouths falls open, the kiss blurring out into a mess of teeth and tongue and rain. Louis’ tongue licks across Harry’s bottom lip, and Harry moans softly, feeling freezing cold but hot as hell at the same time.

“Oi, fuck off, you little shit,” Louis says again, pushing off Harry with a laugh. His hair is soaked, plastered to his forehead, and Harry hates having Louis so close and not being able to do anything about it, because Louis’ so set on going for a drive even though there’s no shop for at least another hour. Louis pushes his hair back, and Harry notices that he took off his beanie at some point, and he looks good. “You’re being a terror.”

“I’m being in love with you,” Harry shouts with a frown, wiping rain from his eyes as he watches Louis open up the car door.

Louis laughs, shaking his head before slamming the door shut.

Harry sighs, and then he’s running around to the passenger’s side as the rain falls down and turns everything into a blur. His boots crunch over snow and slush and he’s suddenly happy that he listened to Louis and wore three pairs of socks, even if it is a bit dramatic.

He doesn’t know where Louis’ taking him, but it better be good.

♡

It’s warm in the car and Harry sinks into it.

As Louis drives them down the empty dirt road, Harry stays quiet, watching the way the windshield wipers move back and forth across the windshield, the rain falling down so hard that he can almost feel it on his skin. They’ve been driving for almost twenty minutes now, so his clothes have started to dry out but they’re still a bit damp in some places, a bit uncomfortable. 

At some point, Harry hooks up his iPod and plays the song Hands Remember by Seabear, and Louis scoffs loudly at that but he stays quiet, which makes Harry laugh. 

“What?” He says. “It’s a good rainy day song.”

Louis shakes his head, but the corners of his mouth are tilted up and Harry suddenly feels like kissing him, or maybe he always feels like kissing him and he never realizes it until he does. Louis says, “I’m gonna crash us into the next tree, I swear.”

“Shu’up. Where are we going, anyways?” Harry asks, grinning.

Louis glances at Harry, eyebrows raised, and pale light from the storm steals slowly over his face, softening the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?” Harry repeats, his laughter soft, echoing out into the car. He shifts in his seat, resting his knees up on the dashboard as he keeps his eyes on Louis. “You never have any secrets.”

“Says you,” Louis laughs. “I have lots of secrets.”

“Give me one,” Harry says, grinning wide.

The raindrops are still falling down hard against the windshield, and it’s making everything feel soft and blurred out, but Harry likes it here, here in the car with Louis beside him. He watches as Louis smiles softly, looking out towards the empty road ahead of them before glancing back at Harry again, his blue eyes bright beneath the light of the storm. 

“Well, I love you, for one,” Louis says.

Harry laughs at that, loud and sudden, his head falling back onto his headrest with a thud. “You’ve told me that before.”

“No, but like, I don’t just love you,” Louis replies, looking out at the road. There’s no car for miles—just a twinkling of headlights in the distance, a twinkling of stars—and the horizon is that heavy sort of gray that makes the air feel like smoke or like dust. Harry makes a face, watching the side of Louis’ face as Louis talks. “I loooove you,” he says, rubbing one hand over his face before placing it back on the wheel, laughing. “I mean, I fucking _looove_ you. I adore you, every bit of you.”

Harry laughs, one hand over his mouth—and it’s like he’s lit up, like he’s flying. “Louis—”

“I’m not trying to be romantic, I swear. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Louis laughs, and his eyes look like the ocean again, that same sea blue of homesick hearts. “You’re just the best fucking thing ever, mate. You’re the love of my life.”

Harry grins and shakes his head, but his cheeks are on fire.

It’s crazy, how much Louis makes him feel like he’s still sixteen with eyes too big for his face, with eyes that looked like planets or stars—Harry’s never felt like this about anyone other than Louis, and he’s fucking twenty four years old. It’s insane. 

It’s so bloody insane, and he loves it. 

The slow strains of Seabear are still pouring out from the truck radio, and the words settle into the space between them like a slow rain or baby pink flower petals, something soft, something harmless: _Friend, I think I must have known you in another life. I think our rocking chairs used to rock together all night._

“Hey, that’s the bit I wrote about you, Curly!” Louis shouts, smiling.

He nudges Harry’s shoulder, laughing wildly as he turns them down a bend in the dirt road. Pebbles snap beneath the truck tires and the rain pelting down onto the roof of the car makes everything outside feel like a dream. 

Harry giggles, he can’t even help it. “I’ve got a secret, as well.”

Louis raises his eyebrows at that, just looking at Harry for a moment before his eyes are back on the road again. He places a hand on the back of Harry’s neck, and his skin is warm even though their clothes are still drying out—his skin is warm and Harry loves him.

“Yeah?” Louis asks. “What’s your secret?”

Harry stays quiet for a moment, reaching around and pulling Louis’ hand away from his neck. And then he takes Louis’ hand and places it against his mouth—he doesn’t even think about it, really. He just does it, he does it because it seems like the right place for any part of Louis to be. Harry sighs, letting his eyes fall shut as he presses his lips to the palm of Louis’ hand.

Behind his eyelids, it’s warm, and it’s still raining.

Finally, he speaks, and his words are muffled against the inside of Louis’ hands. “You’re the love of my life, too. You’re the love of every single one of them.”

Louis laughs, and it’s the best song Harry’s ever heard.

♡

Pitch blackness, broken up only by the sound of falling rain.

“Louis, where are we going?” Harry asks, stumbling in the dark.

Louis doesn’t answer the question. “Keep walking, you.”

Harry sighs. Louis’ got his hands over Harry’s eyes, because for some reason he finds that completely necessary, and Harry’s trying to see through the gaps in Louis’ fingers but he can’t, he can’t see anything, it’s just useless. The sky has darkened out into an even heavier gray and all Harry can see is blackness.

“I don’t wanna keep going, I wanna to sleep,” Harry frowns.

“Shut up,” Louis laughs, his breath puffing out warm against his ear. The snow crunches beneath their rain boots as they walk, high frozen grass brushing soft against Harry’s pant legs. Shit, his teeth are chattering now, and the rain is still falling down in small, frosted flurries. At this point, all he wants is to get Louis back into the truck and kiss him until their mouths turn pink again, until they’ve got marks on their necks that look like blue-black stars.

“Alright,” Louis says, moving his hands from Harry’s face. “Look.”

Harry opens his eyes finally, blinking as everything shifts back into focus, and it takes him a moment to realize where they are—standing alone in the middle of a wheat field, pine trees bracketing them in all around. And right in front of him, just a few yards away from where he’s standing, there’s an old wooden barn. 

“What do you think?” Louis asks, and Harry just stares.

The barn is huge, rain drops are falling down onto the green tin roof as Louis and Harry stand together and watch. Harry blinks, and for a moment he’s confused, but then another second passes by and he finally understands what Louis’ suggesting. 

“You did that shit good, mate,” Harry says finally, nudging Louis in the shoulder with a grin. Louis laughs loud and Harry smiles, starts making his way towards the barn in the distance, blinking away the soft drops of rain on his eyelashes. As he gets closer, the barn starts coming into focus—the wooden walls with the gaps in the wood, the way the rain stains some parts darker—and he shakes his head, eyes wide. “It’s fucking brilliant.”

“Knew you’d think so,” Louis grins, arms crossed over his chest.

“We should go in, shouldn’t we?” Harry suggests, moving to stand with one hand on the doorframe as he peers inside. He can’t really make anything out, to be honest. “Like, see how big the place is or whatever.”

Louis makes a face, following Harry’s gaze. It’s dark inside the barn, rain drops trickling through the gaps in the roof and echoing out into the silence. “No way in hell,” Louis says. “It’s fucking pitch black in there.”

Harry laughs, because yeah, Louis’ right. 

Sighing, he glances over his shoulder and notices that the moon is up, bright white against the heavy gray sky, the storm clouds moving quickly—and then there’s the tall wheat grass, the blurry shape of Louis’ truck peeking out through the gaps in the trees. Bright orange, a little fire. Louis left the headlights on because he’s an idiot, and they just look like pools of light slicing out into the dark. Harry just hopes nobody steals it. 

“Oh, wait,” Harry says finally, turning back towards Louis—Louis, who looks soft and warm beneath the moonlight, soft and warm even though eyelashes are frozen cold with rain. “Do you still have those sparklers I put in your trunk the other day?”

Louis’ mouth drops open, and he blinks, his mouth quirking up like he’s about to laugh. “What the fuck is this, H, the set of one of your indie films? Why the hell are you putting sparklers in my trunk?”

“I dunno,” Harry says, trying not to smile. “Wasn’t my party.”

“No, you just stole the goods,” Louis sighs, and then he’s running a hand over his face as he groans. They’re standing right under the roof, and it’s good because the rain doesn’t reach them here. Louis glances over towards his truck, and then he’s looking back at Harry again. “Stay here, I’ll get your stupid sparklers.”

“I can’t come with you?” Harry asks, frowning slightly.

“You’ll slow me down, baby,” Louis laughs, and Harry’s about to say something to that but Louis’ already gone, jogging back towards the truck behind the trees. Harry leans back against the wall of the barn and watches him go, watches the way Louis ducks his head down against the rain. It’s like a spotlight is trained right on his back, making him seem bright against everything else, making him seem like the brightest thing in the whole wide world. 

When Louis becomes a blue speck in the distance, Harry sighs.

He stands up again, peering into the barn, and it’s only a moment before he walks inside. Hay snaps beneath his boots like twigs, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he looks around, trying to make something out in the dark. Louis did good, honestly. It’s a great barn and in here, the air smells like dust.

“Harry Tomlinson!” Harry shouts, laughing as his voice echoes. 

It comes back to him, like a wave to a shore. Harry Tomlinson, Harry Tomlinson, Harry Tomlinson. Shit. Is that what he’s actually going to be called after the wedding on Saturday? He never really thought about it before, but now it’s all he can think about. The moonlight washes in through the gaps in the walls, casting lines of brightness across the dirt floor, and Harry grins to himself, liking the way the darkness makes everything easier to imagine.

“Hello,” he says, quieter this time. “I’m Harry Tomlinson.”

The words still echo, and Harry laughs again, giddy with excitement.

“You really are something else, Curly,” someone says, and Harry turns to see Louis standing in the doorway of the barn, two sparklers held up and casting golden shadows across his face. They hiss like matches being lit. “Just testing out the name, I suppose?”

“Oh my god,” Harry laughs, almost embarrassed. “Shut up.”

"We'll be sharing, by the way," Louis says, moving slowly into the barn. "Hi, I'm Louis Tomlinson Styles."

"Hi," Harry replies, grinning goofily. "S'nice to meet you." 

Louis smiles at that, moving closer, and Harry thinks that he wants to make Louis smile for the rest of his life. The light from the sparklers falls out into the darkness, and suddenly Harry can see how big the place actually is—it’s huge, and there are raindrops falling down from the beams on the ceiling, the ceiling that’s arched high up above them. Louis hands Harry one of the sparklers, and Harry whirls around, walking across the barn and letting the light shine onto the walls. The heat of the flames warm his skin, the tips of his fingers. There are old tires stacked up against one wall, and there’s a pitch fork and a shovel on the other, but they’re both rusted copper so Harry figures the place has gone unused for quite a while. 

“I like it,” Louis says finally, still holding the sparkler in his hands.

Harry grins. “I like you.”

Louis smiles softly at that, but he stays quiet, and suddenly Harry feels the need to get closer. It’s almost strange, how much he wants Louis all the time, every minute, every second—he thinks he maybe should’ve been over it once they left high school, or maybe after they broke up that one time a few years back, but it never happened. He never got over it. And when they agreed to talk again that winter, just as mates, Harry couldn’t even go two weeks without kissing Louis’ mouth again. He couldn’t go fourteen days without tasting him.

Swallowing thickly, Harry starts moving across the barn.

Louis watches him, his eyes blank, and Harry feels like he’s burning up or something. His heart is in his throat, rain drops pelting down against the roof, and a bar of moonlight washes in through the gaps in the wood, lighting the edges of Louis’ face. 

It’s like they’re underwater, the world slow and tinged blue.

“Stop looking at me, you shit,” Louis says, his voice amused. “Those frog eyes of yours are freaking me out.”

“Fight me,” Harry says, laughing, and the words come out sounding a bit lower than he intended for them to sound—they sound drawn out, lazy in his ears, and he can hear how much he wants Louis, he can hear it in his own voice, and that excites him. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Oh, you wanna go now, do you Curly?” Louis asks, grinning wild, electric. The rain falls through the roof still, frozen flurries that feel like snow on Harry’s skin. Louis puts his hands on his hips, nodding towards Harry. “You think you’re big?”

“Big enough to beat the hell out of you,” Harry smiles. He brings his fists up in front of his face, punching out into the air, and when Louis laughs at that, Harry feels it all the way down in his toes. “Come on, pal, fight me.” 

“Alright,” Louis says, grinning as he brings his fists up. “On three.”

“On three,” Harry agrees. “One, two, three—”

They charge at each other the moment the words leave Harry’s mouth, and the damp hay dips beneath Harry’s boots as he runs across the barn, straight towards Louis, their laughter falling out into the dark. The sparklers are dead—Harry dropped his onto the floor before he started running—and so now it’s back to being pitch black again, and Harry’s not sure where Louis even is until he’s smacking into him, both of them colliding together and falling back onto the ground with a loud thud.

“Ouch, fuck,” Louis hisses, his voice close to Harry’s ear.

Harry laughs, pinning Louis down before climbing on top of him, straddling his thighs. A bar of moonlight falls right over Louis’ face, and suddenly he’s bright silver, and he’s right there, and Harry loves having him around. Trying to steady his breathing, Harry lets his laughter turn soft as he places his hands on the sides of Louis’ face, brushing his thumbs across the skin beside Louis’ ears.

“Oops,” Harry grins, his voice low. “Sorry about that.”

“Sure you are, you’re a little devil,” Louis says, looking up at Harry with watchful eyes. “You mind?”

Harry shakes his head with a smile, and the hay beneath his knees is damp, frosted. But still, he feels sort of warm, warm like he’s sitting on sunlight, and that makes sense because he’s sitting on Louis, and that’s pretty much the same thing.

“Alright, you win, get off me now,” Louis sighs, shifting a bit.

Harry laughs, a dizzy sound, and then he pushes down a bit with his hips, his crotch brushing against Louis’—he circles slowly, spreading heat, and Louis stops moving. Harry smiles softly, liking the way that Louis’ eyelids flutter at the feeling, just barely. 

“Harry,” Louis says, his voice low, almost laughing. “Fuck off.”

“But I want you,” Harry breathes, grinding down against Louis again, his hips moving in small, slow circles. He’s hard already, and it feels like heat is spreading all through his body, his nerves turning into lightning, his blood turning into rain. He keeps moving, brushing his crotch over Louis’ as the cold wind trickles in through the gaps in the barn wood, and it feels so good that his toes curl in his boots. “That’s my other secret, you know,” Harry grins, his eyelids turning heavy as Louis stares up at him. “I want you.”

“You’ve said that before,” Louis says, his eyes hooded.

Harry laughs, but his mind is floating away from him and it takes him longer than usual to get his words out, but when he does, the words are strained, drawn out. They don’t make any sense. “No, you don’t get it,” he says, “I _waaant_ you. Like, I want to kiss you everywhere, all the time. I’m always thinking about it.”

Louis just stares at him, watchful, and then the world tilts—

The world tilts into a blur of rainwater and wooden barn walls, and Harry’s laying beneath Louis before he even realizes he’s moved. Louis’ straddling his hips, and their breathing is heavy, coming out in short pants. The sounds echo out into the dark, come back again and again and again, an ocean sequence of desire.

“This is quite an awkward situation, then, isn’t it?” Louis grins, his voice coming out slow, lazy. He’s speaking close to Harry’s face, so close that his features blurring in and out of focus—bright blue eyes, soft skin, hair still damp from the storm. His words taste like nectar when they fall out into Harry’s mouth, they taste like sugar and mint. Louis says, “’Cause I don’t want you at all.”

Harry laughs, a dazed sound, and his hands are on Louis’ legs before he even tells himself to put them there. “You want me so bad.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself, mate.” Louis grins. “Why is that?”

“Because I know you,” Harry says, tilting his mouth up towards Louis. Louis’ hands are on either side of Harry’s head, and only half of Louis’ face is in the moonlight now—the rest is lost in shadows. Harry realizes that here, with his back against the snow cold hay, he must be drowning in it. Louis stares at him, and Harry lets his mouth fall open, pushing his hips up against Louis’. “And I know you love me really bad and you want to kiss me, too. Probably all the time.”

Louis laughs, his eyes crinkling, and Harry just watches him. 

“All the time?” Louis asks, his eyes soft. “You sure about that?”

Harry nods, grinning slow, and his fingertips almost feel like they’re burning up. Maybe it’s the gloves he’s wearing, but he doubts it. It’s most likely the way Louis’ watching him right now, attention soft and sort of blurry, blue eyes settled on Harry’s slack-jawed mouth. And Harry’s trying to keep his breathing steady, he really is, but it’s hard with Louis staring at him like that, soft blue gaze flickering between Harry’s eyes and Harry’s mouth.

Harry feels frozen, just looking back, just waiting.

“God, you are so fucking hot,” Louis breathes finally, and then he’s dipping down to kiss Harry again. They’re grinding now, dirty and slow but speeding up, faster and faster, and Louis tastes like nectar when Harry inhales him, he tastes like nectar and sugar and apples in an orchard. His clothes smell like firewood, and Harry pulls him in closer, kisses bruises onto his bottom lip, and he wishes that they could stay here forever, stay here in this winter cottage world.

“Fuck me,” Harry whines, his words muffled against Louis’ mouth.

Louis’ breath hitches and Harry ruts up against him, his toes curling as the heat spreads all the way through his body, his blood buzzing in his ears until it’s all he can hear—the pounding of his heart, the rain hitting against the roof, and Louis’ soft sounds that make Harry feel harder than he’s ever been in his life.

“I can’t, H,” Louis says, kissing him rough. “We’re in a barn.”

“We’ve been in worse situations, mate,” Harry replies, and he tries for a laugh but it turns into a whimper as Louis grinds down against him again, Harry’s cock hard as hell in his jeans. He feels restless, like he can’t stop moving. “Do what you did before,” Harry says, his voice low, blurry. Louis freezes, looks down at Harry with a confused sort of expression, and Harry grins, moving up against Louis again. “When we got high for the first time.”

Louis just stares at him for a moment, and Harry can feel it. 

He can feel the love Louis has for him in that instant—he can taste it, and it’s something that’s splashes onto his tongue like a sugar cube. Louis starts moving again, his hands resting on either side of Harry’s head, and then he dips down and kisses Harry’s eyebrows, the corner of Harry’s mouth, the dip of Harry’s chin. He licks over Harry’s bottom lip, wet and messy and so, so good, everything bright and electric. 

They kiss like they’re hungry, just a blur of teeth and tongue.

Louis thrusts against Harry slowly, still wearing all of his clothes, and it’s so hot and it’s so good and Harry can’t breathe, he can’t breathe because suddenly he’s back in his teenage bedroom with the storm hitting hard against the window, turning the whole world into a bright purple haze. Suddenly he’s back in his bed watching Louis through a wall of smoke, watching Louis, always Louis. There’s Louis above him, around him, forever, all over—

And Harry needs him closer, somehow, the walls of the barn melting away until it’s just the two of them, their heavy breathing and their soft sounds, Harry moaning loud as Louis slips his thigh between Harry’s open legs, speeding up, their cocks grinding together through their jeans.

“Oh, shit,” Harry breathes, his vision blurring. 

Louis laughs at that, and his eyes are lit up silver by the moonlight. Harry can’t speak, he can’t breathe, he can’t do anything but think Louis, Louis, Louis. Louis between Harry’s legs, their rain coats brushing and making it awkward, making it good. The heat builds up, higher and higher and higher, and Harry feels like he’s gonna faint.

He’s so fucking hard, and he just wants more.

“You’re so cute,” Louis grins, leaning down to kiss Harry’s nose.

Harry laughs, breathing heavily. “Fuck off.”

“I think about you,” Louis says, thrusting faster. They’re not fucking but they would be if they took their clothes off, and Harry likes the feeling of Louis so close to him, just like this, the same way they were on that night years ago when Harry was high and he was seeing his bedroom through a kaleidoscope lens. Louis keeps moving, pressing himself down against Harry’s dick, and he looks focused, attentive. “I think about you a lot, like. Your mouth, your belly, your cock—I just want you all the time, I don’t even know why.”

“Well, come back when you do,” Harry laughs, dizzy with heat, with love.

“You’re just, fuck Harry, you’re my favorite,” Louis says, and Harry just looks up at him, watches the way the moonlight comes in and softens up his edges. It’s warm and cold at the same time, and it’s raining, and Harry thinks again that him and Louis are endless. Louis says, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I wish you would just fuck me,” Harry laughs, panting heavy.

“Jesus christ, Haz,” Louis groans, and Harry can feel how hard he is. It’s a heady feeling, something that makes his mind spin around and around. It’s a carnival ride and Harry never wants to get off. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I would never,” Harry laughs, and then everything turns white.

He comes with Louis’ name sitting on his tongue, and it still tastes like nectar, like apple slices and firewood, and everything tilts and whirls as Harry’s whole body jolts, shudders, shuts down. 

“Oh my god,” Harry moans, mouth wide open. “Fuck.”

Louis watches him for a moment, almost fox-like in the dark, and then he’s kissing Harry again, their mouths meeting with a small sound that echoes out against the rain. Harry falls back into the feeling, his toes curling as Louis keeps grinding him down into the hay floor, and it’s too much all at once, and Harry feels like he’s gonna get hard again if Louis doesn’t stop.

But he lets his body move back, and moonlight spills out of the sky.

This, Harry thinks, this is a memory. And it’s a good one.

♡

On the way home, the sky is dark and Harry’s eyes are heavy.

It’s raining still, but just barely. Most of the rain has turned into snow, millions of bright white flurries falling down from nowhere, electric against the deep black sky. Shifting in his seat, Harry wipes at the backs of his eyelids, bringing everything into focus again.

Louis is driving them back down the snow-choked road, the path bracketed in by frosted pine trees, and it’s completely empty aside from the occasional passing of headlights. Harry honestly feels like he could fall asleep right now, but he’s so excited that it’s hard to.

It’s quiet here, quiet and soft and warm, and Harry puts on a song. 

“Oh god,” Louis scoffs, almost laughing as he rubs a hand down his face. The soft strains of the song pour out into the car, hazy and low, and it’s almost like floating. Louis says, 

“What’s this one now?”

“New Slang,” Harry grins. “It’s by The Shins. You’ve never heard it?”

“I don’t think anybody’s ever heard it,” Louis says.

And okay, maybe Harry should be pretending to be offended or something, but it’s sort of cute how Louis makes such an effort to hate all of Harry’s music all the time. Harry feels light and reckless like he always does when they’re so close together, and he keeps his eyes on Louis as Louis drives them down the dark slush-covered road, moonlight trickling through the gaps in the canopy of leaves above their heads. 

“You make me feel drunk, Lou,” Harry says, smiling wide.

Louis glances at him, his eyes heavy, and then he shrugs as he turns back towards the road. Harry watches the side of Louis’ face, and it’s only a second before he speaks, but it’s a second that feels more like a lifetime. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

♡

In the dark of their bedroom, Louis reads Harry’s body like braille.

The curtains are shut and Harry can’t see anything, but he can feel Louis hovering over him, he can feel Louis’ eyes on his face.

It’s heat, it’s white hot heat and the snow is so far away from them now but Harry can still taste it on his tongue, and there’s that sugar cube again, there’s that apple slicing itself in two. The darkness is heavy and Harry rolls around in it, taking Louis with him, their bodies swimming together beneath the sheets. 

Louis moves inside him, and it’s like, _where are you?_

Harry kisses him, then—he surges up and he kisses Louis’ shoulder and Louis’ throat and Louis’ chin, he leaves his kisses everywhere, like promises, like flower petals, and it’s like he’s breathing the words out into Louis’ mouth. _I’m right here, and here, and here._

♡

In the morning, the sunlight is soft like peach fuzz.

“God, not _you_ lot again,” Harry groans, wiping at the backs of his eyelids as he walks into the kitchen, his walk slow and clumsy, half asleep. Louis is sitting with the lads around the kitchen table, with Niall and Liam and Zayn, and Harry is so happy to see them that he can barely stand it. “I’m so sick of your faces.”

“Oi, my boy’s up!” Louis shouts, smiling over at Harry.

“Tell him to go back to bed then,” Zayn says, “the grown-ups are having a chat.” But Zayn’s smiling, and he laughs when he sees the look on Harry’s face, his dark eyes crinkling. “Ah, sorry. Morning, H.”

“Yeah, nice to see you too,” Harry huffs, making his way over to the breakfast nook. 

The kitchen is warm this morning, Harry thinks.

It’s warm, with the flame colored flowers sitting on the window sill above the sink, the cold air rushing in from outside, full of snow. The house feels clean, crisp at the edges—it’s that same feeling Harry used to get on Thanksgiving when he was a little boy, when the whole house smelled like maple cake and autumn leaves, and he knew his whole family was on their way over. 

It’s that same feeling of something big about to happen.

“How are you all doing, then?” Harry asks, crossing his arms over the table as he sits down in the seat next to Zayn, right across from Louis. Pale sunlight slants in through the window, lighting up one side of Louis’ face, and it’s hard to watch because Harry hasn’t kissed him yet today and his willpower is dwindling. Harry smiles, shy. “It’s actually wonderful to see you.”

Liam groans and Zayn says, “Shut the fuck up.” 

“We’re here for the wedding, man,” Niall says, his smile wide. 

He’s sitting beside Louis, his hands cradled around a glass of orange juice, and it’s strange seeing him here, but it’s a good strange—the last time he was here, Harry was all gutted over trying to see other people but still missing Louis, so gutted that he got drunk and cried his eyes out and threw up outside on the porch in the middle of the night, and all he really remembered the next morning was Niall’s voice in his ear, and Niall’s hand rubbing small circles onto his back. _It’s alright, mate, he said. You’re okay._

Eyebrows furrowing, Harry frowns. “Where’s my mum gone?”

“She went up to the barn with Eleanor and Gemma, I believe,” Liam says, resting his chin in his hands. He wiggles his eyebrows, the light turning his dark eyes into honey. “They’re decorating.”

“Stop trying to change the subject,” Zayn says, mouth wide.

“I’m not,” Harry says, but he’s laughing, shaking his head. “It’s just, who let that happen? And when did El get here?”

“Oh, please, Haz,” Louis scoffs, grinning at Harry. His hair is soft and falling down across his forehead, and it’s hard for Harry to sit across from him without reaching out to touch. “You know Eleanor. The moment she hears about a party, she’s on her way.”

“Yeah, I quite like that girl,” Harry smiles.

Louis laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Knew you’d come around.”

“You lads are shameless,” Niall sighs, stretching his arm over the back of Louis’ chair. “Didn’t you hook up with her back in high school, Lou? S’bit incestuous, isn’t it? Having her at your wedding?”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Louis says, his eyes wide, and Harry’s laugh is so loud, so sudden that he has to cover his mouth. Louis’ glancing between all of them like they’ve caught on fire, but Harry still wants to kiss him. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

“I actually heard that from everyone,” Liam laughs. 

“Yeah, you must’ve heard lots of things, being the bloody school president,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. He’s smiling, though, and Harry smiles at that. “How’d we even end up being mates?”

“Shut up,” Liam says, frowning. The sunlight trickling in from outside falls over one half of his face, and the other half just looks lost. He’s grown out his hair, and now it’s starting to curl around his ears. “It’s not like people were lining up to be your friend, either.”

“Yeah, but I had Harry,” Niall grins, wide and crooked. “So.”

“You were all fucking wankers, alright?” Louis cuts in, sighing like it’s troubling him to even have to associate with them. “Still are.” 

It’s funny, because it’s still the same, sometimes—there are moments when Harry sits back and realizes that Louis is still Louis, the same Louis who wore his football gear around the school like a douche on his game days, the same Louis who used to race across fields for fun. And Niall is still Niall, his best mate since kindergarten. Zayn is still Zayn, the boy who won Prom King and never bragged about it once. Liam was the fucking school president, which is so hilarious to think about, but it makes sense even now, just looking at him.

“Oh, shut up, Louis,” Harry grins, kicking Louis gently underneath the table. Louis blinks up at him, his blue eyes soft and warm, and Harry’s grin gets even wider. “You didn’t think I was a wanker at all. You _loved_ me.”

“Oh! Styles gets his way,” Zayn laughs, nudging Harry’s shoulder. 

“Liar,” Louis says, voice soft, and he looks at Harry in that way that makes Harry feel like it’s just the two of them: the two of them and the flowers sitting over on the windowsill, the sunlight falling in from outside and making the china dishes in the pantry shine like gold. “I didn’t love you until yesterday, I believe.”

Harry shakes his head, trying not to laugh. “You’re so full of shit.”

“No, really,” Louis says, and his eyes look the same way they do before he kisses Harry—heavy, a deep blue, dark water. Harry feels a flush in his cheeks but he stares back, grinning dopily as Louis shrugs. “Yesterday I looked over at you and thought, well fuck, he’s always around, I might as well love him.”

“Fuck that,” Harry says, but the corners of his mouth are tilting up, just a little bit. “You’ve loved me since we first met.”

“I can’t even remember when we first met,” Louis replies, watchful.

“Yeah, you do,” Harry says, and his lets his voice come out slow, like the words have been traveling for miles and miles and miles. “It was at a party, and you were drunk, and you kissed me.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Louis says, slowly.

Harry grins, watching Louis. “Thought you couldn’t remember.”

“I remember that bit,” Louis replies, his voice soft. He crosses his arms over the table, leaning in, and Harry wishes the table was smaller so that he could lick Louis’ mouth, but as it is, he just presses his foot against Louis’ ankle, just to touch, just to keep it there. Louis licks his lips like he’s trying not to smile. “You, uh—I was bored, and I remember thinking that your eyes were very green. You looked interesting.” 

“Interesting?” Harry repeats, pretending to frown. He’s playing with the ring on his hand, and he feels like he’s floating. “Was that what it was? You wanted to snog me and forget it?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I tried really bloody hard, too.”

“I had no idea,” Harry muses, trying not to smile. The sunlight is turning the room into honey, and there’s still the cool wind rushing in from the window over the sink, there’s still the cool air making goose bumps rise on Harry’s arms. “S’not like you ignored me for three weeks straight.” 

“Yeah, but then I caved bad, didn’t I?” Louis says, laughing like he’s remembering something. “I got feelings and fucked it all up.”

Harry’s quiet for a second, and then. “What kind of feelings?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Haz,” Louis groans, rubbing a hand down his face. Harry loves him like this, when it’s early in the morning and he gets annoyed by every little question Harry asks. Louis sighs, loud and obnoxious. “I felt like I wanted to, I dunno, kiss you again? Fuck you again, definitely. It was supposed to be just a physical thing.” 

“Right,” Harry says, smiling softly. “But then you got feelings and fucked it all up.”

Louis nods, his eyes heavy again, warm. “You messed up my head.”

It’s quiet for a beat, a slow haze of sunlight and Louis, and then—

“I feel,” Someone interrupts, and it’s only a moment before Harry realizes that it’s Niall talking. He’s glancing between Louis and Harry with a vague look of disgust on his face, and his eyes are squinted like he’s thinking hard about something. “I feel like—like, they’re mutually masturbating in front of us,” he continues, “and there’s nothing we can do but just sit here and take it.”

“Oh my god,” Harry laughs, loud and sudden. “Shut up.”

Zayn sighs, chuckling. “I feel like I need a bloody bath.” 

Niall brightens up at that. “Can I join?”

“Me too,” Liam shudders, making a face. “I feel used.”

“Oh, sod the fuck off, all of you,” Louis says, rolling his eyes as he leans back in his chair. He’s grinning, and he’s such an electric boy, that Louis Tomlinson. He’s lightning. “Don’t you have something to do? A wedding to plan?”

Liam frowns, thick eyebrows furrowing. “It’s _your_ wedding.”

“Yeah, and you lads are our best men, so get up and start planning things,” Louis says with a grin, standing up in his seat. He lays both hands on the table, and the sunlight strikes his edges. “Zayn, you go do something with your hands. Invitations, maybe,” he cuts himself off, looking around the table. “Liam, get us some music. Nothing too Harry, please. We don’t want our guests to fall asleep.”

“Hey!” Harry frowns, “My music is nice.”

“I was thinking about singing a few songs, too,” Niall says, casual.

Louis stares at him. “Since when?”

“Since just now,” Niall replies. “Don’t worry, I’ve been practicing.”

“Alright,” Louis says slowly, raising his eyebrows as he grins at Harry before looking around at the rest of the table. “Niall’s gonna sing for us, then. That’s nice. Also, Niall, you’re in charge of the food, so remember that. Get a bit of everything.”

Niall nods, and then he blinks. “So what are you gonna do?”

“Well,” Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s a secret.”

♡

In the glow of the porch light, the snow looks like falling stars.

The sky is darkening out into a heavy blue—deep like the worst kind of bruise, or frostbite. At the sound of the engine humming, Harry races down the porch steps, his rain boots crunching over ice and snow. Louis’ sitting in his orange truck at the end of the drive and in the dimness, two twin funnels of snow are lit up by his headlights, bright white against the dark water sky.

“No, wait!” Harry shouts, running until he reaches the driver’s side of Louis’ truck. He raps his fist against the window, smiling wide when Louis glances up and rolls his eyes, both of them staring at each other through the frost. Harry wiggles the door handle, says: “Open up, babe, I wanna come.”

Louis shakes his head, but then he’s rolling down his window.

“No,” Louis says as soon it’s all the way down. His breath is puffing out white into the air, and Harry wonders what Louis tastes like right now. “It’s not happening. Screw off.”

“Hey, come on, let me in,” Harry frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. His teeth are chattering, and once again, it’s too fucking cold for April. “Why not? I got all dressed up for you and everything.”

“You don’t look dressed up,” Louis says, his eyes flicking over Harry. 

“Do so,” Harry frowns, mock hurt. “I’m wearing the ear flaps!”

Louis sighs at that, but he’s grinning as he rubs a thumb across his eyebrows. “How did you even know I was leaving?” He asks, and the snow is falling down between them like a wall of static. It’s the soft kind of static though, the kind that’s all warm and fuzzy in Harry’s belly, little stars. He steps closer, crosses his arms over the open car window. Louis blinks up at him. “I told Niall to keep you occupied.” 

“I know,” Harry says, smiling. “He told me that you told him that. And he also told me that you’re going to get your suit, and I wanna help.”

Louis makes a face. “Is nothing sacred anymore?”

“Not with Niall, no,” Harry laughs, and then he smiles a bit, dopily. “Besides, I knew you were leaving long before he said anything. My Louis senses were tingling.”

“Is that right?” Louis asks, and he’s grinning, his hands still resting tight on the steering wheel. He stares at Harry for a moment, his eyes flickering between Harry’s eyes and Harry’s mouth, and then he’s looking straight at Harry again, voice soft. “You’re gonna have to tell me more about that one day, your Louis senses.”

“Right,” Harry laughs, his teeth chattering. “It’s a date, then.”

“A date?” Louis asks, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, moving a bit closer. “A date. Usually I’d have to turn you down, see. I’m actually with someone at the moment, I’ve been with him for a while. But he loves me too much, and he never lets me come along with him on rides ‘cause he’s afraid he’s gonna spend the whole time snogging me senseless.” 

Louis licks his lips, trying not to smile. “He sounds smart.”

“You’d think so,” Harry says, and now he’s laughing a bit, shaking his head. He lets his voice go soft, and he just stares at Louis for a bit, the snow still blurring up the space between them. He can feel that the car heater’s on even though he’s standing outside, and he leans in a bit, kissing the corner of Louis’ mouth, his bottom lip. Louis makes a small sound and Harry backs away. “I’ll miss you,” he says, patting the side of the car twice. “Have fun, yeah?”

Louis just looks at him, and he seems annoyed. “Can you just,” he starts, and then he pauses. “Can you come back here for a sec?”

Harry grins. He takes a step forward and Louis says, “closer.”

Harry takes another step and Louis sighs, “all the way, Harry, fuck.”

At that, Harry laughs, and then moving closer until he’s back in front of Louis’ truck window, the night air cold against his face, his skin feeling tight. There’s the truck headlights again, two bars of white stretching out into the trees, and Harry leans his face in through Louis’ open window. “Miss me already, huh?”

“Not at all,” Louis says, but his eyes are watchful. 

He places a hand on the back of Harry’s neck, pulling Harry down, and fuck, he is so bloody warm. He presses his mouth to the corner of Harry’s mouth, and then to Harry’s bottom lip, and then he’s licking along the seam of Harry’s lips until Harry exhales and his mouth opens up, and Louis’ licking right inside. 

“Shit,” Harry breathes, and that’s it. He’s hard already.

He’s hard and it’s freezing cold but Louis is so warm, and Harry crowds in against the truck door, his body plastered against it as he tries to get closer to Louis. His whole body is lit up, and he’s wearing a worn out black jumper with holes in the sleeves but suddenly he feels like he’s underneath a blanket and there’s a fire roaring in a fireplace and it’s just him and Louis, it’s just darkness and breathing and touch.

Louis kisses Harry’s neck, sucking bruises there.

“Shit,” Harry breathes again, but he’s letting his head tilt sideways so Louis has more space, and the snowflakes fall onto his eyelashes. “Louis, stop, I’m hard,” Harry moans, his body moving against the truck door without him even thinking about it. And that’s like, that’s not fucking acceptable. This needs to stop right here. And Louis does stop, but then he’s licking a stripe right up Harry’s neck until he’s back at Harry’s mouth, kissing him again, again and again. “Oh, come on, Louis,” Harry whimpers, the words muffled by Harry’s mouth. He’s half laughing, so turned on that he’s dizzy. “S’not fair—”

“I’ve never played fair,” Louis grins, right against Harry’s mouth.

He’s stopped kissing him, really, but their mouths are still touching, and Louis’ looking at Harry with his eyes wide open, faces so close that everything looks fuzzy around the edges. Harry stumbles a bit closer, reaching his hand inside the car and then moving down, down, down, his fingers skirting the waistband of Louis’ pants, and then his boxers, reaching inside—

“Oh, fuck,” Louis moans, his body jolting. His mouth opens wide and Harry kisses him hard, sucks slow on his bottom lip, and god—the porch light is still on, lighting up the front of the cabin a few feet away, and Harry can’t believe he’s doing this to Louis in the fucking driveway. “Harry, you shit, you’re such a shit.”

Harry laughs right against Louis’ mouth, stroking him one more time before taking his hand away and backing up from the car, the both of them just staring at each other, panting heavily.

“Now I’m hard!” Louis shouts, frowning. “This is all your fault.”

“What? My fault?” Harry laughs, eyes wide, and it’s hard to stand still because he’s hard, too. “No way! You kissed me, mate, take some responsibility.” Louis just stares at him, shaking his head, so Harry frowns, kicking snow with his boot. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go take care of this, so I’ll see you later. Have fun.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “You’re gonna touch yourself?”

“No, I was thinking about asking Zayn for help,” Harry says, and then he makes a face. “Of course I’m gonna touch myself, you twat, look what you did to me. I’m all horny with nothing to do. I’ve gotta take care of it now.” 

“Oh, don’t you fucking dare,” Louis says. When he sighs, it’s almost like the sound gets ripped from him. His eyes are the sea, though, and they’re deeper than anything Harry’s ever seen. “Shit, Haz. I can’t go—not with you here.”

Harry smiles at that, suddenly feeling warm all over.

The snow catches on his eyelashes, turning them into wet stars, and the sky is still darkening, everything pale and tainted blue. “What? You afraid to leave me alone?”

“No, not afraid,” Louis says, watching Harry with a level gaze. It’s his competitive look, like he’s proposing a challenge, and it’s the same look he gave Harry in high school after those first three weeks of ignoring him. It was just the two of them in the locker room when Louis laughed and said: _So, Curly, you missin’ me yet?_ But this time, Louis says, “I just feel like sucking you off right now, is all.”

“Oh, god,” Harry groans, his shoulders deflating. “That’s not fair.”

Louis grins, and then a second passes before Harry hears the clicking sound of the truck doors unlocking, and he stumbles quick towards the passenger side before Louis even has to say a word.

♡

After bringing the car into park, Louis cuts off the engine and glances over at Harry with his eyebrows raised. Moonlight washes into the car, the blue of his eyes looking silver, and when he speaks, his voice is flat. “No talking,” he says. “That’s the deal.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “You never told me anything about a deal.”

“Yeah, well I’m telling you now,” Louis replies, shrugging like he’s not being completely unfair here. He’s wearing a navy blue windbreaker and his hair is all soft and falling in front of his face, and for a moment Harry thinks that what Louis’ asking him to do is really, really unfair. “No talking, yeah? That means you don’t get to share your opinion about whatever I try on, you don’t get to ask me for kisses, and you don’t get to say anything that’s—inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate,” Harry repeats, almost thoughtful. “So nothing, like, Rated R?”

“Nothing Rated R,” Louis nods, and the car windows are all frosted around them. Louis pauses a moment, his lips pursed as he looks out the windshield—at the old second hand shop they’re parked in front of, dream catchers hanging in the window frame, and at the way the snow is still falling down from out of nowhere, little flurries of frost—and then Harry’s watching as Louis looks back at him, smiling like he’s made up his mind. “Nothing at all, actually. Don’t say anything.”

“This is crazy,” Harry frowns. “You’re crazy.”

Louis winks, laughing a little bit. “Crazy about you, yeah.”

“Why can’t I talk?” Harry asks, crossing his arms over his chest. The car heater is off now and it’s starting to get cold, his teeth chattering a bit when he speaks. “I like talking.” When Louis just stares at him, Harry makes a face. “Well why’d you bring me along if I’ve got to stay quiet the whole time?”

“You blackmailed me!” Louis laughs, his eyes crinkling. Harry grins, and Louis says, “Fuck you, mate, you were gonna touch yourself.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry grins, spreading his legs apart, just a bit. “I can still do it now though, can’t I?” He keeps his eyes on Louis and Louis stares right back, the air in the car becoming heavier as Harry places one hand over his own crotch, pushing his hips up into his hand, pressing down. He’s still half hard, which is a bit pathetic, but he’s weak when it comes to Louis. “Lou, touch me.”

Louis exhales sharply, and his breath is frosted white. “No.”

“But Louis—” Harry whines, his shoulders deflating. 

“Oh, no, don’t stop for me. Carry on with what you’re doing sunshine,” Louis laughs, cracking open the car door before climbing outside, the freezing snow falling into the space, making Harry shiver. Frowning, he watches as Louis pulls the hood of his windbreaker up over his head and starts walking towards the shop. 

Just before Louis opens up the shop door, Harry rolls down the car window and lets the cold air rush in, all snow and frost. He pokes his head outside and shouts, “Why don’t you love me?” 

Louis flips him off, and Harry laughs, because well, yeah— _that’s_ love.

♡

“Alright, love, now do a little twirl for me.”

Louis makes a face, standing in the doorway of his change room with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s in a black tux, and he looks dashing, in Harry’s opinion. He’s really not sure how he’s supposed to be keeping his hands to himself right now. “If you call me that that one more time, Curly, I swear.”

“What are you going to do, pal?” Harry laughs, smiling dopily. He leans back a bit on the sofa, feeling warm all over as Louis looks at him with his eyebrows raised. “Kiss me to death?”

Harry says the words, and Louis just stares at him for a moment, his eyes a bit wide, and Harry’s heart flutters because he knows that they’re both thinking the same thing—that they’re thinking about the classroom bathed in golden light, dust swimming in the air, laughter, Harry and Louis sitting side by side at the back of the room, their thighs touching, their arms touching, static feeling the space between them, making everything electric.

That time, Louis leaned in, kissed Harry quick.

This time, though, Louis just grins. “I thought I told you not to talk.”

And then he’s moving back into his change room and Harry laughs loud, says, “You’re getting so good at resisting my charm.”

“Fuck off,” Louis laughs, and that’s that.

Harry grins, deciding to make himself comfortable while he waits. It’s dim in this part of the store, he realizes, it’s all night time darkness lit up by a few dangling bulbs. They’re all the way at the back, where one wall is just three changing rooms and the rest are exposed red brick covered in different sized picture frames and clocks and floral tapestries. It’s actually quite neat looking, Harry thinks, but then he also thinks that Zayn would definitely have something to say about the dream catchers and the Asian themed changing screen near the front of the shop—like, cultural appropriation and all that. 

Zayn’s actually really smart, and that’s something that surprised Harry at first, but. It shouldn’t have.

“You done yet?” Harry groans, looking back at the change room. It’s not really a change room, actually, it’s more an old curtain hanging on a rod, but still. “My fingers are getting all pruny and I wanna see how you look.”

“Shut up, you’re so dumb,” Louis laughs, shuffling around behind the curtain. 

Harry grins, and in the gap between the end of the curtain and the wooden floors, he can see Louis’ feet, Louis’ ankles, the bottom bits of his calves. He’s wearing thick knitted socks and all of a sudden Harry realizes that that’s probably all Louis’ wearing right now besides his underwear and maybe his shirt.

“Have you got a shirt on?” Harry asks, his hands cradled in his lap.

“Don’t even try it, mate,” Louis says, and then Harry’s watching as he steps into a new pair of pants and pulls them up over his legs. He’s not sure how much time passes—a second, a minute, it seems like days—before Louis’ pulling the curtain back and coming into view, finally, wearing a navy blue tux that makes his skin look like honey. He’s got a bow tie on, too, and Harry would laugh at that if Louis didn’t look so damn good in it. “Don’t say anything,” Louis says, and then he pauses, thoughtful. “Just, like. Nod your head or shake it.”

Feeling numb, Harry nods. He just keeps nodding.

“Really?” Louis asks, his eyes brightening a bit. He smiles, turning to look at himself in the mirror between his change room in the next room. And hell, Harry’s heart’s in his throat, because Louis’ wearing what might very well end up being the same thing he wears at their wedding because they’re getting married, like, for life. Louis sighs, turning to face Harry with a thoughtful look on his face. “Alright, shit. You can say something now.”

Harry laughs at that, sudden and loud. “Oh, can I?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, his mouth tilting up at the edges. “But you’re only allowed one thing, so choose wisely.”

“Alright,” Harry says, standing up from where he’s sitting on the sofa. He takes a few steps forward, closer and closer until he’s right in front of Louis, the light bulb overhead washing them out in yellow. Harry reaches out, places both hands on each of Louis’ shoulders. “Alright, well. It’s a lovely fit around your here, for one,” he says, and then he trails his hands down Louis’ arms, slowly, stopping at his wrists, just holding both of them in his hands. “Nice cuffs,” Harry notes, and he’s looking at Louis’ body but he can feel Louis’ eyes on his face, heavy, a real weight. Harry lets go of Louis’ wrist, bending down a bit to trail down the line of Louis’ legs, slowly. “I think the pants fit marvellously as well, so that’s nice. A bit like jeggings.”

Louis laughs loud at that, his eyes crinkling as he shoves Harry away. “You’re such a shit.”

Harry smiles, his smile turning soft. “No, but, for real. You look very handsome, Louis. The bowtie is wonderful and I love you a lot.”

Louis looks at him, thoughtful. “That was more than one thing.”

Harry shrugs, grinning slowly. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

“You are the fucking worst,” Louis groans, and then he’s moving in towards Harry, backing them up until they’re falling back into the change room. Harry stumbles, catches himself, and then Louis’ there, right there, and it’s already too much, not enough, a dizzy feeling. “You can never just keep your mouth shut.”

Harry blinks back stars, laughing breathlessly. “You love me.”

“I love your mouth, yeah,” Louis grins, kissing Harry’s chin. It’s a bit darker back here and the curtain’s closed, so it’s just dimness and the soft sounds of their breathing, small space. And Louis’ so close, so of course Harry’s body starts to react—his bones, buzzing. His head, spinning, moving away, disappearing. “And I like your hands sometimes,” Louis continues, and his eyes are heavy, watchful. “I like what you do with them.”

“I like what you do with me,” Harry laughs, still floating.

“I love you," Louis breathes, kissing Harry's nose. He keeps kissing him, lips soft and warm, breath tasting like honey, like sugar, like something that Harry wants to get lost in. "I love you," Louis says again, kissing Harry's eyelids, his eyelashes, his cheekbones. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Harry laughs, and Louis kisses his mouth, their soft sounds filling up the small change room as stay they crowded back against the wall, and Harry thinks again about the night they first touched, the night in the bedroom bathed in blue light, he thinks again that kissing Louis is like swallowing moonlight and when Harry's mouth opens up on a gasp and Louis licks his way inside, Harry thinks that it’s no wonder some people fall in love and forget how to breathe.

“Yeah,” he laughs, the words falling right onto Louis' mouth. “Yeah, I love you too.”

♡

It’s the night before his wedding and Harry can’t sleep.

He’s restless, he keeps moving around, and the bedroom is too bright to sleep in. He needs pitch darkness, but the moonlight is making everything too easy to see—he can just make out the shape of the dresser across from the bed, the picture frames hanging on the wall above it, the photograph of Louis smiling back at him. 

Louis. Louis, down the hall. Louis, too far away.

The quilts covering the bed are itchy against Harry’s bare skin and he can’t sleep here, he just can’t, and so he won’t. Sighing low, Harry sits up in bed and kicks off his sheets. He just sits there for a moment, listening for any sounds coming from the hallway, and then when nothing happens, he climbs out of bed and heads through the dark, straight to the door. 

Bloody hell, his willpower is so weak, but it’s like. Really.

How is he expected to sleep when Louis’ right down the hall?

Harry looks both ways before he steps out into the corridor, which is a web of moonlight and shadow. There’s a small square window at the end of the hall, right beside the stairs, but Harry walks in the opposite direction. The soft sound of laughter floats out of the twins’ room, and Harry makes sure he steps over the floorboard that creaks. When he reaches the guestroom at the end of the hall, he twists the knob and opens the door slowly, his heart stuck in his throat. Shit. It’s like he’s in high school again.

“Louis?” He whispers, stepping into the room. 

Moonlight washes in through the frosted window, casting squares of light across the bed and across the floors, and Harry can just make out the shape of Louis in the bed—just enough that he realizes Louis’ not asleep. Instead, Louis’ sitting up in bed, staring right at him. It’s dark, but Harry can tell that Louis’ eyes are wide. 

“H?” Louis says, the letter spilling out into the dark. There’s a tint of amusement in Louis’ voice, and Harry’s stomach feels fluttery, it feels good. Laughing, Louis shakes his head. “You’re not supposed to be here.” 

“I can’t sleep,” Harry frowns, stepping closer to the bed.

“Good,” Louis grins, one half of his face brightened by the moonlight. “I knew I could count on you, man. I was going crazy without you in here,” Louis laughs, shuffling over to the other side of the bed. “Come on then.”

Harry grins, smiling giddily, but he pauses once he reaches Louis. 

“What?” Louis asks, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“You’re on my side,” Harry frowns. “I always sleep by the window.”

Louis blinks at that, glancing down at the bed before looking back up at Harry, shaking his head. The moonlight washes over him, over his face, his blue eyes. It turns him silver. “No, I don’t think you do, H. Definitely not. See, I’m always on the left side.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I want to sleep there.”

“But I’m already sleeping here,” Louis says, his voice hardening. 

And it’s probably the worst time in the world for this, but Harry’s half asleep and he’s torn between kissing Louis on the mouth and shoving him off the bed, and for some reason he feels the need to be difficult tonight—him and Louis don’t fight a lot, but Harry just wants to sleep near the bloody window. That’s it.

“Louis, just move the fuck over,” Harry says, voice flat.

Louis makes a face, and his eyes seem deeper in the dark. “I’m not moving over, like. Screw off, mate.”

“Fine,” Harry says, huffing loudly. “I’ll sleep on the floor, then.”

“Have fun with that,” Louis grins.

Harry rolls his eyes, grabbing a pillow from the bed. “I will.”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.”

And then Harry’s making his way over to the other side of the bed with a small huff, settling down right in a square of moonlight with his pillow. He can feel Louis’ eyes on his back, heavy and soft at the same time, but Harry ignores it because he’s already chosen to be difficult and he can’t really turn back now. Wiping at the backs of his eyes, he lays down with his hands folded under his cheek.

Time passes by slowly, and Harry doesn’t sleep.

He watches the world outside the window instead, watches the snow falling down like stardust against the pitch black sky, and he’s pretty sure Louis’ already fallen asleep. Sighing, Harry shifts a bit on the floor, wincing at the way his hipbone digs into the floor. He turns so that he’s on the other side, facing the bed instead of the window, and alright, it’s a bit more bearable this way, at least.

“How is it, then?” Louis asks suddenly, and oh. He is still awake. “You comfortable?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says after a moment, and he’s annoyed as hell but there’s still a part of him that just wants to kiss Louis on the mouth again, a part of him that wants to kiss Louis everywhere, all over. “Even better than a bed, I’d say.”

“Glad to hear that,” Louis replies, his voice flat.

Harry can feel Louis’ eyes on his face, but he can only really see the edges of him—the lines of his jaw brightened by the moonlight, the loose strands of his hair lit up silver. The whole world feels slow right now, like swimming beneath a full bellied moon while the ocean videotapes, and the old cabin guestroom is tinged blue. It’s the last night before they’re wedding and Harry’s being a fucking idiot.

A beat passes and then Harry closes his eyes, stays still.

Louis doesn’t say anything either, and Harry’s heart sinks like a stone in his chest because he’s being dumb and it’s a terrible feeling to miss somebody that’s right in front of him. But, a moment later, there’s the sound of ruffling bed sheets, and Harry opens his eyes just in time to make out the blurry shape of Louis’ body as Louis climbs out of bed, his footsteps muffled by the carpeted floor as he walks slowly towards Harry, slow, too slow.

The moonlight splits itself in two as Louis moves through it.

He lowers himself down until he’s lying right in front of Harry, the two of them face to face, and Harry blinks, watching the silver light as it washes over Louis. He’s gorgeous, honestly, he’s lovely—the soft bend of his nose, the pout of his lips, his skin, like snow, like sugar. They stay frozen for a bit, just watching each other.

“Louis,” Harry says, “I want—”

Louis watches Harry with blank eyes and Harry leans in, bumps his nose against Louis’ cheekbone, against Louis’ nose, shuffling over on the floor until his legs are tangled between Louis’, a blur of skin and heat and sleep. Louis’ breath hitches and Harry feels it in his stomach, the need to touch him, the need to get closer. Their lips brush but then Louis pulls back, staring at Harry once before moving back in, kissing him once, twice, three times—little pecks like he just can’t help it.

And Harry’s on fire, fuck. He’s burning up.

“’M sorry,” he breathes, the words muffled as Louis kisses him again, and again, and again. “I’m sorry, alright, I don’t care where I sleep, I just want to be next to you—”

“No, it’s fine, it’s—” Louis kisses Harry again, he sucks on Harry’s tongue until Harry’s breaking apart beneath him, his body buzzing, electric. Louis breaks away, and Harry swallows thickly as Louis says, almost hysteric, “Fuck, you can have whatever side of the bed you want.”

Harry laughs at that, smiling wide. “So I’m still your best mate?”

The snow outside keeps spinning like static, and Louis kisses Harry until both of their mouths are blue like frost, blue like ocean water.

“Best mate,” Louis says. “Doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

♡

Even from the end of the drive, the music is loud as hell.

It shakes his bones, his ribcage, and Harry breathes deep as he glances between the house and Niall’s car parked on the road, stuck right between some bright orange truck and a faded red convertible. Jesus, even the footie players trucks are overdone and obnoxious, Harry thinks. This is not going to be fun. 

The driveway seems to wind on forever, and they’ve been walking for five minutes when the house comes into view. Harry’s eyes widen. It’s a huge white house with blue shutters and a wraparound porch, and Harry had no idea that people actually lived in houses like this. 

And oh god, oh god. Harry can’t fucking do this. 

“We should just go home, Niall,” He says, almost desperate.

“Fuck that,” Niall laughs, moving up the drive. The music gets louder as they get closer, and Harry stumbles as some bloke pushes past him, cigarette butts weaving through the dark. Niall glances over his shoulder, looking serious. “This is the first party we’ve been invited to since elementary, mate. This could be our chance.”

“We weren’t invited,” Harry says, keeping his voice low. Up ahead, the porch light is on and the house door keeps swinging open as people come out to smoke, laughter and music pouring out of the house and into the dark. Sighing, Harry speeds up, trying to keep up with Niall. “You overheard a conversation in the hallway, alright? It’s not exactly the same thing as being invited.” 

Niall sighs loud at that, turning to face Harry with a levelled gaze. 

“What?” Harry says, feeling prickly, hot all over.

His eyes keep flicking back to the house and honestly, he just wants to leave before anybody from school recognizes him—him and Niall are still standing in the shadows, but underneath the yellow glow of the porch light, he can make out the blurry shape of Zayn bloody Malik lighting up a fag, the blue smoke floating up into the dark. 

God, Harry can’t believe he’s in the same place as Zayn Malik.

“Mate, you’re being pathetic,” Niall says, placing both of his hands on Harry shoulders. He moves in closer, close enough that his blue eyes start blurring out into wet stars. “I heard Louis say it himself. He said everybody’s gonna be there, and—”

Harry cuts Niall off, shaking his head. “Louis Tomlinson?”

“The one and only,” Niall grins, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Niall, you don’t even know him,” Harry whispers, his words rushed and frantic. He feels like he’s talking to a child, and Niall just keeps staring at him like Harry’s the crazy one here, but that’s because Niall really doesn’t know Louis. Harry does. They got that dumb take home assignment in science this week and so far it’s been awful because Louis Tomlinson is a fucking prick, and that’s all he is. Harry sighs. “Don’t look at me like that, Niall, shit. You’ve never once spoken to him in your _life_ —to any of them actually, not to Louis or Zayn or Stan or whoever the fuck else is in their little club, and now we’re crashing their bloody party!”

“Jesus, mate, pipe the fuck down!” Niall snaps, glancing around the area. There’s only trees around them, though, but Niall keeps his voice a whisper as he says, “It’s not like they’ve got our faces on wanted posters in there, alright? Stop being insane.”

“’M not being insane,” Harry frowns, but Niall’s right.

Chances are, no one in that house even knows who Harry is—they’ve probably never even seen his face before. It’s not like he runs in the same circles as any of them, anyways. Well, any of them except for Louis, but Louis doesn’t count because like Harry mentioned before, Louis’ a fucking dick.

“Alright,” Harry says, hands crossed over his chest. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Niall grins, wide and reckless. “That’s the spirit.”

And then they’re making their way up the drive slowly, the winter air cold and biting at Harry’s cheeks. The driveway is all frosted, and it’s one of those driveways with the fountain in the middle of it, and Harry thinks that whoever lives here is probably obnoxious as hell. A few yards away, there’s the house with the windows all lit up, people packed onto the wraparound porch, music pouring out into the night every time the door opens up. It’s so loud, but it’s also freezing out here, so Harry can’t even lie and say he’s not at least looking forward to being inside.

Before he even has the time to reconsider, Harry’s following Niall up the porch steps, the snow and slush crunching beneath his boots. He feels like his heart’s in his throat and the music is so loud and he can’t hear himself think. Without thinking, Harry glances around the porch—he catches eyes with Zayn, who’s eyes are slightly watchful, curious—and then Harry’s looking away quickly, his cheeks flushed.

“Fuck, hurry up, Niall,” Harry whispers, “Just get inside.”

Niall just laughs at that, and then he’s moving inside, the screen door rattling behind him like a tin can. Harry rubs at his eyes, trying not to cough at the smell of smoke out here, because there’s literally nothing in the world less cool than coughing when cool people are trying to smoke, he thinks.

“Just do it,” Harry says to himself, and then he does.

The moment he walks into the house, the sounds become loud all at once, music crashing into him like a wave. _When the pimp’s in the crib, ma, drop it like it’s hot. Drop it like it’s hot, drop it like it’s hot._

“Fucking hell,” Niall breathes, and Harry just nods, his eyes wide.

Inside, the house is even bigger, which is like. Crazy.

First of all, people are everywhere. Like, the place is packed, and Harry tries not to elbow any of them in the face as he and Niall push their way through the crowd, the crowd of dancing bodies and red beer cups and smoke, buzzing laughter. He glances around, noticing that the ceilings stretch up high above them, higher than Harry ever thought ceilings could even go, and there’s a crystal chandelier hanging there, reflecting shadows onto the wall in the shape of diamonds—rainbow colored light. 

“Jesus,” Harry breathes, speeding up so that he’s walking by Niall’s side. People push past him in a blur, and the music is pulsing through his bones, rattling them. “Niall, who’s house is this?”

“Didn’t hear that bit,” Niall shouts back over the music, just as they pass a huge bay window looking out onto the side yard. Out there, Harry makes out the blurry shape of an empty pool, brightly lit up, cerulean blue. On either side of the foyer, there’s a set of fancy-as-fuck staircases leading upstairs, and Harry shakes his head. Niall nudges him in the shoulder, blue eyes wide. “Looks like one of those houses they shoot porn videos in, yeah?”

Harry laughs at that, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. I suppose it does.”

And then they’re moving into the next room, stumbling a bit as people push past them. All the lights are off, but there are rainbow disco balls hung on the ceiling, beams of light slicing through the dark—and Harry catches flashes of people as he passes by: he sees Stan holding a bottle of beer with his arms around two girls, the light washing him out in blue. Nicholas Grimshaw is lounging on a leather couch in the corner of the room, looking sloshed as fuck, and then he sees Eleanor Calder standing by the television set, laughing with Hanna and holding a drink in her hand, and it’s weird because, like, they’ve both hooked up with Louis, Harry’s pretty sure—and also, didn’t Eleanor graduate last year or something? 

Right. She must be friends with the person who lives here.

And the music is even louder now, shaking the walls, the ceiling.

_I like the way you do that right there, right there. Lick your lips when you’re talking that make me stir, make me stir._

“Oh, hey,” Niall says, nudging Harry in the shoulder. They’re crowded into the corner of the room, away from the crowd and mostly in the shadows, but every once in a while a bright beam of light will sweep over them, edging their silhouettes in ocean blue. Niall nods over to the other side of the room, shouting over the music. “Louis’ over there! You reckon we should say hi?”

“Fuck no!” Harry yells, but he’s following Niall’s gaze anyways.

And oh, Louis is right there, he’s right across from Harry on the other side of the room, standing with Zayn and Stan and Eleanor. As far as Harry can tell, Louis hasn’t seen him yet, which is good. It’s not like he’s afraid of Louis or anything, it’s just that Louis’ sort of rude and would probably give Harry shit for this on Monday, for showing up at a party that he wasn’t even invited to. It’ll be the second time Louis’ spoken to Harry all term, so that’s. That. And Harry knows he should probably look away before Louis catches him staring, but for some reason, he doesn’t.

For some reason, he just looks, he just watches—

Louis’ laughing loud, his head thrown back as the music swallows the sound, and he’s wearing his bright red football jacket because he’s a douche. No but seriously, who the fuck wears their team jacket to a house party? That’s egotistical on a whole other level.

_I like the way you do that right there, right there. Swing your hips when you're walking, let down your hair, down your hair._

“I’m off to get a drink Haz, you comin’?” Niall shouts, nudging Harry’s shoulder. Harry turns to look at him, watches as the blue light blurs into bright pink, magenta, purple—it makes Niall’s face look bruised, plum colored, and Harry just shakes his head, grinning a bit. 

“No, you go,” he yells back. “Just hurry up!” 

Niall laughs, and then he’s turning away and melting into the dark. Harry watches the top of Niall’s head weave through the crowd before Niall’s disappearing around the corner, probably towards the kitchen where the drinks are. Harry can’t even imagine what the kitchen looks like in a place like this. There are probably three refrigerators and a stripper pole for post supper entertainment.

Sighing, Harry scans the room again, watching quietly as people dance and laugh, their voices blurring together until they sound like radio static, the music vibrating through his bones, echoing loud somewhere right behind his ribs. 

Music, laughter, smoke and voices, buzzing, electric light.

Harry shifts on his feet, suddenly feeling prickly all over, the same way he always feels when someone’s looking at him, or when Louis takes his seat next to Harry in Bio and stays silent the whole time. It’s—it’s a warm feeling, a sort of heaviness on his face, and he looks around the room until he’s looking at right at Louis, until he realizes with wide eyes that Louis’ looking right back.

He’s literally looking straight at Harry, blue eyes watchful and fucking intense as hell, and the pink light is playing over his face, lighting him up, and okay, yeah. Harry gets that Louis hates him, and he honestly feels like he’s about to puke.

“Fucking fuck,” he groans, turning away from Louis with his cheeks flushed. 

He moves out of the room as quickly as he can, trying not to shove anybody too hard on his way out—the whole football team is here tonight and the last thing Harry needs is a black eye—and then he takes a deep breath as he walks back into the foyer again, the foyer with its ridiculously high ceilings and it’s crystal chandeliers. 

It’s a bit less packed out here, but it’s still hard to breathe.

“Now what,” he sighs, and he should probably be a bit worried that he’s talking to himself but it’s like, Niall’s not even around so it’s not like he even has a choice. Harry stays still, and then a beat passes before some bloke shoves past him, hard.

“Fucking watch it, man,” the guy snaps, voice blurred at the edges.

Harry blinks, watching as the guy disappears back into the crowd, and suddenly he just needs to be somewhere else—anywhere but here. He has no idea where Niall is but he figures they’ll find each other later, so he starts pushing past people, heading straight towards the kitchen, because if there’s one idea that comforts him right now, it’s getting drunk.

“S’cuse me,” he says, again and again as he elbows his way towards the kitchen. 

The floors are all beige marble tile beneath his feet and every hallway seems to branch off into somewhere else, into another room filled with smoke and people and electric light. It’s a really nice house, even if it is dramatic as fuck. Harry can’t believe that people actually live here. For a moment, he imagines what it might look like in the morning, when the sunlight is washing in through the huge windows and making everything bright, sharp at the edges.

In the end, he doesn’t end up getting that drunk.

The kitchen is packed and people are all clustered around the keg, and it’s a bit nippy, like somebody’s went and cracked open a window somewhere in the house and all the cold air is rushing in. Harry drinks until his vision gets a bit fuzzy at the corners, and like he’s tipsy, not drunk. That’s an important distinction. He can’t get drunk tonight, because who knows that Niall is getting up to right now. 

Like, really. Who knows? Niall probably doesn’t even know.

“Okay,” Harry laughs to himself, moving back out of the kitchen. All of a sudden he’s starting to feel it—the way his heart is pounding in his throat, the music melting away until it’s just the sound of his breathing, muffled laughter. “Lie down, lie down.”

Everything is soft and far away—the colors, the people, the sounds.

Harry makes his way around the house, giggling for no reason at all. He heads back into the foyer and then outside onto the porch, but when the cold air hits him like a punch he goes right back inside, up the stairs, higher and higher until the music seems to fold in on itself and fall away, leaving him alone and buzzed in a quiet hallway that seems to stretch on forever. There are Christmas lights strung along the floor, lighting up the baseboards, the dust bunnies in the corner, and he thinks it’s pretty. It’s nice. A bit like a broken carousel.

And thank god, the first room he enters is empty and silent.

Shutting the door behind him, Harry blinks back rainbow colored stars as he flops down onto the bed, and laughs a bit when he realizes that Niall was right about what he said last night. Harry’s a bloody lightweight. He can’t handle his drinks at all.

Sighing, he rubs the back of his hands across his eyes and props himself up on his elbows, looking around.

Whoever’s bedroom this is, they’re probably an asshole, and Harry’s not just saying that because they’re definitely on the football team at his school. In the corner of the room there’s a white desk with a computer on it and the computer is still turned on, the screensaver bathing everything in bright blue light. It’s enough light that Harry can make out the rest of the room clearly, even if the vodka is making his head spin a little bit—he sees all the ribbons and medals hung up on the bulletin board beside the window, the picture frames that he can’t make out sitting on the dresser across from the bed. 

There’s a football sitting on the dresser, and Harry laughs at that. Footballers are so gross.

It’s silent for a moment before the bedroom door is opening up, dim light and music pouring in from the hallway, and Harry blinks, trying to bring the silhouette standing there into focus. The lad standing in the doorway is holding a bottle of beer and he’s wearing a bright red football jacket and Harry doesn’t know why it takes him so long to realize who it is, but for some reason, it does.

“What are you _doing_?” The shadow asks, and oh. That’s Louis Tomlinson.

“Dunno,” Harry shrugs, because he’s really not sure. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I was going to have a quick lie down,” Louis says, still standing in the doorway. His face is a blur of blue light and shadow, eyes deeper than ocean waters, and suddenly Harry feels way too drunk to have only had three beers and a vodka shot. “But apparently my bed is being used.”

Harry blinks at that, eyes widening. “This is your—”

But then he’s looking around, and he’s noticing the football jersey thrown messily over the desk chair, he’s noticing the way it’s white with a black number seventeen on the back. Louis’ number, meaning Louis’ jersey. Meaning Louis’ room. Of course it’s Louis’ fucking room.

“Oh,” Harry breathes, and then he’s laughing. “Sorry.”

Louis just stares at him after that, and in the back of Harry’s mind he realizes that that was literally the first time that he’s ever had a real laugh in Louis’ presence, but he blames that on the fact that his nerves are still buzzing, his head a soft whirl colors and sound.

“You can lie next to me,” Harry says, shuffling over a bit on the bed. 

His shirt falls up a little, exposing the thin line of pale skin between his belly button and his jeans, but he’s tipsy as hell right now and he can’t quite bring himself to care. Louis is still looking at him, eyes heavy and dark and blue, and Harry sort of wishes it was lighter so that he could see what kind of face Louis’ making. Not that he cares about what face Louis’ making—he doesn’t. He’s just, you know. He’s curious.

Finally, Louis shakes his head. “I’m not gonna lie next to you.”

Harry shrugs. “Suit yourself, mate.”

He lies back down after a second, resting his head on Louis’ pillows as he keeps his eyes on the ceiling. There are glow in the dark star stickers up there, and Harry laughs at that—he’d make fun of Louis for it, but Harry has the exact same ones on his bedroom ceiling, so. Whatever. And even though he’s trying not to pay attention to it, he’s still very aware of Louis standing in the doorway, the pulsing music pouring in from outside, way too loud, way too much.

“Can you shut the door, please?” Harry asks, not looking at Louis.

“You know I could just kick you out of here,” Louis says, but he’s shutting the door anyways, the music becoming muffled again, far away. Harry fights a grin, watching as Louis walks across the room to sit on the chair in front of his computer screen—and like this, one half of his face is bright blue, and Harry can see him clearly, too clearly. His nerves are buzzing again, and Louis leans back in his seat, his eyes on Harry. “It _is_ my bedroom.”

Harry’s too drunk for this. “Would you like me to leave?”

Louis watches him for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Nah, you can stay. You look comfortable.”

“I am very comfortable,” Harry agrees, grinning. His head is spinning around again, cheeks flushed warm. “You’ve got a nice bed.”

“And you’ve got a nice body, mate, but you don’t see me lying on it,” Louis replies, and by the hard tone of his voice he’s clearly trying to insult Harry, but Harry doesn’t understand how he could possibly be insulted by Louis Tomlinson telling him that he’s got a nice body. Not nice grades or a nice locker spot—right by the fountain on the first floor—no, Louis just said that Harry has a nice _body_ , and that’s like, that’s something you’ve got to observe somebody to notice, right?

Harry laughs, sudden and loud, his mind full of fizz.

“What is with you?” Louis asks. “Are you drunk?”

“I drank a bit, yeah. But I’m not drunk,” Harry says, and then he pauses, sitting up on the bed. The world shifts, and then comes back into focus, and Louis’ looking right at him. Pale moonlight is coming in through the window, stealing slowly over the walls, and Harry hears the low strains of music floating up from downstairs. Pursing his lips, he tries hard not to laugh. “You think I’ve got a nice body?”

“No,” Louis groans. He swivels in his desk chair for a moment, and then he’s looking back at Harry, eyes unreadable. “I mean you’re alright, yeah, but it’s not serious. It’s not like I want to touch you.”

“Shame,” Harry grins, body buzzing. “I’d probably let you.”

Louis’ quiet for a moment, and the silence is heavy. “You are so drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Harry groans, frustrated. Louis just looks at him and Harry sticks out his tongue, moving back so that he’s sitting up but sort of lying down at the same time, his head resting on the pillows. Louis’ pillows. Sighing, Harry trails his finger along the line of his own waistband, liking the way that the air in the room is cool against the small bit of his stomach that’s exposed. “It’s just,” he starts, looking up at Louis again. “I get quite horny when I drink, yeah? So like, if I were to let you touch me, it’s not ‘cause I like you. It’s ‘cause I like being touched.” 

“Right,” Louis scoffs, but Harry can tell that he’s not taking it seriously.

Harry frowns. “I actually don’t like you very much at all.”

“No?” Louis asks, and in the blue tinged darkness, Harry can see that Louis’ eyebrows are raised. Harry shakes his head, and Louis just watches him. His eyes are heavy. A bit warm, a bit suffocating. Harry likes them, but he’ll blame that on the drinks, too. Louis nods, swivelling a bit in his chair. “I don’t like you either.”

“Nah, you just like my body,” Harry grins, eyes crinkling.

Louis smiles at that, but just barely. His mouth tilts up at the corner and he shakes his head like he thinks Harry’s the stupidest thing he’s ever seen, and Harry can’t even argue with that. He is being stupid, and he really has no idea when he started to think that it was a good idea to smile it up with Louis Tomlinson, but like—it doesn’t have to mean anything, just like Harry said before. He’s tipsy, his vision fuzzy at the edges, and Louis’ right there. 

Louis’ right there, and Harry wants to get closer. 

Harry wants to get closer, and it’s not like Louis’ gonna come to _him_.

Slowly, Harry pushes himself off of the bed, the mattress dipping and rising back up as he moves across the room, past Louis, towards the dresser. Moonlight is crisscrossing over the carpeted floors, and Harry grins when he gets close enough to Louis’ dresser to make out some of the photos in the frames—a lot of them are Louis in his football gear, but some are of his family, and there are a few of him as a baby as well.

“Nice bum,” Harry says, picking up the picture of Louis in a diaper.

“Nothing’s changed,” Louis replies.

Harry smiles at that, placing the picture frame back down on the dresser. Right above the dresser, there’s a mirror, and Harry watches his reflection for a moment, lips pursed. He looks dumb, that’s for sure. The moonlight is making his face too easy to see and his hair is all tousled like he just woke up. Still, his face is a bit flushed like it always is when he’s turned on for no reason, and he thinks again that he doesn’t have to like Louis to like being touched by Louis.

Looking away from the mirror, Harry turns to face Louis.

“Nice place,” Harry says, slowly walking over to where Louis’ sitting at his computer desk. It’s the brightest part of the room, a web of blue light and moon beams, and Harry keeps walking until he’s standing right in front of Louis, just a foot of space between them. “It’s a bit dramatic, though. Bit obnoxious.”

“Obnoxious?” Louis asks, eyes widening.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, laughing as he moves closer. Outside the window, the snow is bright and white against the deep blue sky, but Harry feels warm in here, and whether that’s because of Louis or the vodka, he’s not sure. “Obnoxious. Just like you.”

“Oh, am I obnoxious now?” Louis asks, his voice hard.

Harry nods again, smiling wide, and he knows that Louis probably doesn’t find the whole thing as funny as he does, but whatever. Fuck Louis. Technically, Harry doesn’t even like Louis, so he doesn’t give a shit if Louis thinks he’s funny or not. He just wants Louis closer.

“Yeah, but not right now,” Harry says, moving closer again, close enough to place each of his hands on either side of Louis’ face. Louis just looks at Harry like he’s wondering something, but Harry doesn’t care about that. He just likes the way that Louis’ cheeks feel warm beneath his hands. “Right now you’re being something else.”

Louis’s voice is slow. “What am I being right now?”

“Cute,” Harry says, leaning down to nose along Louis’ cheekbone. It’s a moment before Louis tilts his face up into Harry’s, soft and warm, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat, nerves endings lit up like a firework show. He’s less drunk the second he feels Louis’ eyelashes against his cheek, but he still feels dizzy, like he’s spinning, and he’s so fucking desperate. He wants this so bad. “You’re being cute,” Harry says again, moving a bit closer, standing right between Louis’ open thighs. “I still don’t like you though.”

“Good,” Louis says, and he’s looking right up at Harry. His eyes are fucking so blue. “I still don’t like you either.”

“Then kiss me,” Harry breathes, brushing his nose against Louis’. He crowds in closer, Louis’ head tilted back, Harry’s head tilted forward, their foreheads pressed together, their lips inches apart. Harry’s, like, ridiculously turned on for no reason, and he thrusts his hips forward a little bit, moaning soft into Louis’ mouth. “C’mon, kiss me.”

Louis makes a small sound in his throat, and it’s actually really, really hot. “You’re so stupid—”

“C’mon,” Harry says again, and Louis kisses him.

Their lips meet when their mouths are still open, and Harry moans throatily as he flicks his hips forward, stumbling a bit so that he’s standing with one of his legs between Louis’ thighs and the other one on the outside of them. He lowers himself, getting more comfortable, and in the back of his mind he’s aware that he’s practically sitting on Louis Tomlinson’s lap, but he chooses not to let that bother him right now. 

Instead, he keeps thrusting forward—again and again, small flicks of his hips that make his erection brush against Louis’ stomach, small flicks of his hips that make his head spin. Louis kisses Harry rough and fast, breathing in through his nose, and Harry brings his hands up to cradle the back of Louis’ skull, fingers tangling in his hair. Louis tastes like smoke and vodka, and something else, maybe sugar, but Harry doesn’t think too hard about that, either.

“You look so dumb in that jacket,” he laughs, breaking away from Louis to catch his breath. 

“Wow,” Louis says, breathing heavy. “You’re on a whole new level of charming, aren’t you?”

Harry laughs, and alright, Louis’ probably trying to be insulting here but at the same time, he’s also watching Harry’s mouth. He’s watching Harry’s mouth and for some reason that makes Harry feel sober all at once. It makes him feel like the whole bedroom is finally coming into focus, like Louis’ finally coming into focus—the blue computer light sharpens the edges of his face, and his eyes look so deep like this. They look fucking intense.

“Thanks man,” Harry says, his voice lower all of a sudden. It’s quiet for a moment and then Harry laughs, shaking his head. “Tell me it’s not fucked up that I think you’re so hot right now.”

“Fuck,” Louis exhales, and the air feels heavier all of a sudden. Harry blinks, leaning in again, and he’s straddling Louis’ lap, their chests pressed together. Harry presses his forehead to Louis’ temple, his eyelashes brushing over Louis’ right cheekbone, soft and warm. And for a moment he thinks that Louis might laugh and shove him away, but Louis just tilts his face up into Harry’s, his mouth brushing Harry’s chin, Harry’s bottom lip, and then he’s got a hand around the back of Harry’s neck, and he’s pulling Harry down, and they’re kissing again.

This time, though, they kiss slowly. Louis’ hands are gentle on either side of Harry’s face.

But god, Harry’s so overwhelmed by their closeness, by all the places where him and Louis are touching—not because he’s being touched by Louis, fuck, of course not. It’s because Harry’s half way to drunk and he likes the feeling of having warm hands on his hips, of someone licking into his mouth like that, lighting fires.

“Louis,” Harry breathes, speaking right into his mouth. “Can I? ”

“No,” Louis says, shaking his head, voice strained. “I wanna—”

And then he’s cutting himself off, swallowing thickly before shoving Harry away, and Harry’s breath catches as Louis shifts out from beneath him and then pushes him back down onto the computer chair, lowering himself down to kneel right between Harry’s spread thighs. He glances up at Harry, and there’s that music again, muffled and so far away. For a moment, Harry wonders what Niall is doing right now, but then he feels the press of a warm mouth against the crotch of his jeans and his whole body jolts with feeling.

“Hey,” Harry laughs, and he’s so, so hard. “You _do_ like me.”

“You wish,” Louis says, his words muffled as he kisses over Harry’s crotch, and the moon is drenching him in light. His hair looks really soft, but then all of a sudden he’s saying, “Just don’t touch my hair, yeah?”

“But what if I can’t help it?” Harry grins, a bit breathless.

Louis glances up at that, his eyes deep and so, so blue. His mouth is all swollen and Harry’s heart jumps in his throat because, fuck, he did that. Harry made Louis Tomlinson’s mouth all red with kisses, and that really shouldn’t be as arousing at it is. Louis’ working at the button of Harry’s jeans, but his eyes stay locked on Harry’s, blue on green, green on blue, the hazy dark. 

Louis says, “Then I’ll knock you the fuck out.”

Harry laughs at that, his eyes crinkling, because Louis Tomlinson really is a dick. He probably has a chunk of coal instead of a heart, Harry thinks, because if he did have a heart he would understand how important it is for Harry to touch his hair right now—casual intimacy is crucial during blowjobs. That’s like, textbook knowledge.

But since he’s still seeing stars and Louis looks way too soft and warm in the blue computer light, Harry just laughs. “You’re already knocking me the fuck out, mate.”

“Stop talking,” Louis says, and before Harry can say anything to that, Louis is kissing his dick.

“Oh—” Harry gasps, his mind going blank.

Louis hums, his mouth tight around the head of his cock, and fucking hell, that has to be some sort of method. It sends vibrations all through Harry’s dick, through his thighs, his toes, his fingertips. He feels it everywhere, white hot heat like stars, like the snow spinning outside the window. Louis’ mouth is tight and warm and he’s sucking, he’s literally sucking on Harry’s dick, and it’s getting harder for Harry to keep his hands to himself. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, and he tightens his fingers around the arms of the chair, his eyelids fluttering, stomach going tight with heat and arousal. 

It’s wet and hot, warmth spreading through Harry’s body, fast, faster, speeding up—

“I can’t feel my legs,” Harry moans, because he honestly can’t.

Every feeling is literally centered in his dick, which is so, so hard and probably leaking into Louis’ mouth, and holy shit, Harry’s dick is in Louis’ Tomlinson’s mouth. He’s thought about it so many times, but not like this—more like, _Louis Tomlinson’s a twat, he should just suck my dick_ —he’s never thought about it in a sexual way, and now he’s not sure how he’s supposed to go the rest of his life without thinking about it. 

Louis chuckles low around Harry’s dick, glancing up at Harry through his lashes.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, low and heady. “Don’t look at me like that, Louis, s’not fair—”

Louis breaks away, wiping his hand across his mouth, and Harry exhales sharply at the loss of contact. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He honestly doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life, and he feels dizzy like he’s whirling through a blizzard, and suddenly he’s remembering the Christmas lights out in the hallway, how they lit up the dust bunnies in the corner. That’s what his mind is like right now, he thinks: it’s all light, rainbow light—it’s all pleasure.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Louis says, and then he’s leaning down to kiss the inside of Harry’s thigh, his mouth warm and so, so lovely. He mouths against Harry’s skin, the cold tip of nose brushing the space right beside Harry’s dick, and fuck. 

“You’re gonna give me hickey!” Harry breathes, rushed and frantic.

Louis nods as he kisses Harry’s thigh again, and if Harry wasn’t such a lightweight he might be able to think about something other than how nice Louis’ eyelashes look when he’s this close, or how he could probably die with Louis’ mouth on his thigh and feel happy. As it is, though, that’s exactly what he thinks. Louis bites at Harry’s leg a bit, and Harry gasps, his fists clenched tight around the arms of the desk chair. 

“You make the stupidest sounds,” Louis laughs, and then his mouth is back on Harry’s dick again. 

This time, it doesn’t take long for Harry’s breathing to start coming out in short, quick bursts. His vision blurs at the edges and then he’s coming, body racking with tremors as Louis sucks him through it, swallowing him all the way down. And shit, shit, shit—Harry wasn’t expecting him to actually swallow, bloody fuck, Louis just swallowed Harry’s come. 

“Oh my god,” Harry breathes, floating.

Louis makes a face, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before looking up at Harry. “Tastes like shit.”

“You weren’t supposed to swallow it,” Harry says, trying not to laugh.

“Didn’t want it to get on my jacket,” Louis says. He’s still looking at Harry, his lips swollen and red and god, Harry wants to kiss him again. He still can’t feel his legs.

Harry grins wide at that. “It's such a dumb jacket.”

Louis just watches him, his eyes warm, and Harry thinks it’s so weird that blue can be such a warm color sometimes, especially now, here in Louis’ bedroom with the blue light, with the music from the party still shaking the walls. Harry breathes slow, in and out as Louis looks up at him—he’s still kneeling between Harry’s legs, a loose strand of hair falling down onto his forehead—then Harry can’t even help it. He reaches forward slowly, giving Louis time to move away, and then he brushes back Louis’ hair, his fingers scratching against Louis’ skull.

Louis keeps watching him, and Harry purses his lips a bit: a suggestion.

He wants Louis to kiss him, but there’s no way he’s gonna ask for that that now. The air in the room feels heavy like it’s about to break, and the moonlight is pouring itself all over the floor, but Louis’ still watching him, blue eyes flickering to Harry’s mouth, staying on Harry’s mouth. Louis leans forward a bit, and Harry stops breathing.

Then the sound of a phone ringing is breaking up the silence.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, and then he’s stumbling away from Harry, pushing himself off the ground to grab his cellphone from beside the computer. It’s ringing loudly, ridiculously loudly, and the bright white screen on the front of it is lighting up the dark. Louis glances at it, but doesn’t answer. He just clicks it off and shoves it into his jacket pocket. “Uh, I should head back.”

Harry frowns, frustrated. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Louis replies, his voice hard again. “What’s the problem? I got you off, didn’t I?”

“But what about me?” Harry asks, eyes wide.

“What about you?” Louis repeats, and he sounds annoyed. Harry notices that he’s hard.

“Well—” Harry starts, suddenly feeling stupid. He has no idea how to say this without just saying it, so he forces himself to speak. “It’s not that I wanna get you off or anything, it’s just. What if I don’t get you off and I just keep thinking about it?”

Louis stares at him for a moment, eyes unreadable. “You think you're gonna keep thinking about it?”

“No,” Harry says, defensive. “It’s just. It’s the least I could do.”

“Don’t worry about it, Curly,” Louis grins, hands in his pockets, and what the fuck was that? He just called Harry _Curly_ —nicknames are definitely not allowed. But Harry kind of likes it, he kind of wonders if Louis thought about it before saying it. Nodding towards the door, Louis shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll find someone.” 

“Right,” Harry sighs, sitting on the chair with his legs spread wide, his whole body buzzing like he’s still being sucked off. It’s crazy, and it’s just—he’s never felt anything like that in his life, what Louis just did to him. He's never felt anything like that, ever. 

“This never happening again, by the way,” Louis says after a beat of silence, his voice strained as he shuffles around his bedroom. He’s got his back to Harry, and for a moment Harry just watches the way the pale light of moon plays over Louis’ skin, the bare nape of his neck, and then he forces himself to stop looking. Louis turns to face him, half of his features lost in the dark, and he shrugs. “S’not like, a personal thing, yeah? I just, you know. I don’t see it happening, you and me.”

Harry snorts. “You say that like it’s something I want to happen.”

“Right,” Louis laughs, a sound that seems too loud in the silence. “You don’t like me. I forgot.”

“I’ll forgive you this time,” Harry says, and Louis smiles at that.

He smiles, and it’s the first real smile that Harry’s ever gotten from him in his life, which is like. Well, it’s enough to make Harry’s cheeks flush, enough to make him glance down before looking back up at Louis, grinning shy. Clearly, Harry’s too drunk for this and not drunk enough at the same time. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t like you either,” Louis says, and it’s too dim for Harry to see if he’s smiling or not, but he thinks—he hopes—that he is. “’Cause if I did, I reckon this could get quite awkward.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, his voice soft. “Good thing.”

Louis nods, and then he’s opening up the door and he’s gone, melting back into the party and the smoke and the other things that Harry’s never going to talk about again. The door falls shut behind him, and then it’s just Harry alone in Louis Tomlinson’s bedroom, the screensaver on the computer bathing everything in bright blue light. 

Groaning, Harry falls back onto the chair.

He wonders if he’ll remember any of this in the morning—

If he’ll even remember the dizzy blue light, dimness and breathing and touch, two heartbeats swimming in a dark room.

Behind his closed eyes, he’s seeing Louis’ face again, he’s seeing Louis’ eyes, deeper than the ocean. Even all the way upstairs in the bedroom that’s all pitch black and universe blue, the music makes its way in through the cracks, shaking the ceiling, the walls. The words are muffled like they’re coming from kingdoms away, and Harry lets them wash over him slowly, a tide pulling him to sea.

_And I know that I’m carrying on, never mind that I’m showing off, I was just frontin’. You know I want ya, babe._

Well, then, Harry thinks dryly. That’s the end of that.

♡

On the day of the wedding, Harry wakes up before the sun does.

The bedroom is still tinged blue with night-time when he kisses Louis awake, licking into Louis’ mouth until Louis finally moans and kisses back, soft and slow, and warm. They don’t say anything to each other at all, not a single word—Harry’s still half asleep when he strips Louis down, kissing Louis’ shoulders, Louis’ chest, the space below his bellybutton. And then he’s stripping Louis down, tugging him by the hand towards the bathroom. 

With a small groan, Louis follows him, and Harry feels wide awake even though his eyes are blurred with sleep. 

“You’re insane,” Louis says, mouth opening up around a yawn.

Harry just laughs, dizzy with sleep or something else. “Yeah, but we’re getting married today.”

And then he’s stepping out of his boxers and turning on the shower, the sound of rushing water filling up the silence. The bathroom tiles are cold beneath his bare feet, but he ignores that, climbing into the shower and smiling when Louis follows him in.

This time, they keep the lights off.

Standing beneath the stream with his forehead pressed to Louis’, Harry realizes that this is one of the very few moments in his life where he feels like he doesn’t have to say anything at all—it’s just him and Louis, the two of them in a dark room, pale white sunlight trickling in through the small square window behind Louis’ head. Steam fogs the glass, making everything hard to see, but Louis’ clear. Harry’s not sure how long they stand there, the shower water falling down onto their heads, drenching their hair, their skin—it might be seconds, minutes, but it feels like a long time, barely enough time—and then Louis’ bringing Harry closer, hugging him tighter

After a while, the shower starts to sound like the ocean does at night. 

Harry shuts his eyes, arms locked around Louis’ ribcage. Their chests are pressed together tight, knees touching, cocks touching, but Harry feels like this isn’t about that this time. 

Louis kisses Harry’s temple and it’s like: _Thanks, again_.

Harry nods, his eyes still shut, the black behind his eyelids turning blue: _Well, I couldn’t be your home if you didn’t let me_.

They have a way of doing that, see. A way of speaking without actually saying words. All in all, Harry thinks it’s pretty fucking cool.

♡

“What are you _doing_?” Someone says, and Harry freezes.

He winces, turning away from Louis’ door slowly, and smiles when he sees Eleanor and Gemma staring back at him, their arms crossed over their chests. The morning sunlight is trickling in through the window at the end of the hall, and they look soft right now, Gems with her honey blonde hair, El with her hair like chocolate.

“Oh, hiiii,” Harry says slowly, smiling like he’s completely innocent. “El, I didn’t know you were staying over. How have you been?”

“I’ve been great, yeah,” Eleanor says, but she seems distracted. Her eyes flickering between Harry and Louis’ guestroom door, the brown of them looking like sand in the sun. She’s wearing a sundress, and her hair is tied up at the crown of her head. She’s lovely, but Harry can’t believe he actually thought that Louis slept with her once upon a time. Turns out, they were just good mates. Eleanor frowns, licking behind her teeth. “Uh, were you just in Louis’ room?”

Harry shakes his head, rushed and frantic. “Nope.” 

“Good,” Gemma adds, her eyes narrowed at Harry. “Because that’d be going against everything you’re supposed to be doing right now, as it’s your wedding day, and you weren’t supposed to have seen Louis last night. It’s sort of tradition.”

“Tradition,” Harry repeats, still smiling. “Of course.”

“You are such a shit bloody liar, H, honestly,” Eleanor laughs, shaking her head, and her mouth is sort of half opened, her fingers covering it. She looks thoughtful, and Harry winces, because El is a lot of things, but stupid is definitely not one of them. “Look at you,” she says, and then she turns to Gemma. “Look at him.”

“Oh, I’m looking, babe,” Gems says, shaking her head. She’s smiling, though, just a little bit, just enough that Harry knows she’s still on his side. “And I am not liking what I see.”  
Harry frowns, his shoulders deflating. “Just don’t tell mum, yeah?”

Gemma rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just go get dressed, alright? Don’t wanna be late to your own wedding.”

Harry grins, kissing them both on the cheek, and then he's off.

♡

A short while later, Anne’s bedroom is warm and soft at the edges.

The sunlight is dim as it spills itself in through the window, falling all over the floor, too lazy to clean itself up. Trying not to grin too wide, Harry watches his reflection in the mirror as the light steals over the bedroom walls. His mum is standing right behind him, chin resting on his shoulder, and she’s frowning and smiling at the same time, which means she’s about three seconds away from crying, so. It’s like prom day all over again.

Well, except that this is way better than prom day. Way better.

“Mum,” he says, trying not to laugh. His nerves are buzzing and he has butterflies in his stomach for the first time in a long time—okay, well no, that’s a lie. He had butterflies this morning when Louis kissed him in the dark bathroom, the shower pouring down onto their heads, but whatever. He’s weak in the morning. It doesn’t count. “Mum, we’ve been standing here for twenty minutes.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Anne pouts, sticking her bottom lip out. She’s already dressed for the wedding, Harry notices—she’s wearing a pale lavender dress, her hair curled and tied back with a lace ribbon, and she looks so lovely. Anne sighs, her eyes misty. “It’s just. I’m so proud of you, baby, and now it’s your big day. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m about to pass out,” Harry laughs, and Anne smiles.

“Ah, yes. The tell-tale sign of true love,” she sighs, and Harry grins, goes back to watching his reflection in the mirror. He actually doesn’t look that bad today, which is good. He’s gelled his hair back and he’s wearing the dark gray tux that he picked out with his mum a few days ago, and all in all, he looks good. Probably not better than Louis, though.

“Alright, kiddo,” Anne says finally, kissing his cheek. “Go show that Louis Tomlinson what he’s in for.”

♡

When Harry walks through the doors, the barn is all soft white light.

He pauses in the doorway, heart stuck in his throat, and he’s immediately aware of all the faces turning back to look at him—familiar faces, a sea of them, all dressed in mint green and white and blue. And the barn looks completely fucking different in the daytime, too. But like, it’s in a good way, really—because at the same time, it looks the exact same. It’s sunlight pouring through the gaps instead of moon beams, and Harry pulls at his suit collar as he looks around, walking further into the room, and he smiles.

Time feels like it’s slowed down, all sounds becoming echoes.

“Hi, baby,” his mum whispers, suddenly standing at his side again.

“Hey,” Harry whispers back, smiling. She links their arms together as they walk and Harry feels warm, he feels like he’s floating. He looks around the barn, at the gold fairy lights and ivy vines roped around the ceiling beams, at the white flowers in old glass bottles hanging down above their heads. The wall at the far end of the barn is just exposed brick, and Harry catches sight of Louis, just the back of him, and that’s enough. “It looks beautiful in here, mum. Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, love. Thank your sister and El, they did most of the work.” Anne chuckles, nudging Harry in the shoulder as they get closer to the front of the room. “Oh, and Zayn. That boy’s quite a visionary, you know.”

“He really is,” Harry agrees, smiling softly. 

At the front of the barn, Niall, Liam, and Zayn are standing on either side of Louis, their backs facing Harry, and they’re dressed in pale blue suits. Except for Louis, of course, who’s wearing his navy blue suit, the same one that Harry watched him try on yesterday before their mouths met in the empty change room, their bodies pressed together in the dark—their chests touching, their knees touching, their hearts touching, always.

The dizzy blue light, the darkness, the breathing and the touch.

Harry thought he’d forget about all of that, that he’d forget about Louis Tomlinson one day, leave him in high school and move onto bigger and brighter things, but fucking hell, there’s nothing in the world brighter that Louis. There never has been.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” Anne whispers to herself, and Harry grins, squeezing her hand.

As they move closer and closer, Harry smiles at people in the crowd as he passes by them—he smiles at Robin and Gemma and Eleanor, he blows a kiss to Jay and the girls, he sees Des sitting somewhere near the back of the room and wiggles his eyebrows at him before moving on, moving forward, flower petals scattered all the way down the aisle. Louis’ standing beneath an arch of ivy vines and golden lights, white flowers blooming off the leaves.

He expected to be nervous, sort of. At least a little bit.

It’s just like, he’s seen all those wedding shows, the ones where the bride breaks down three hours before the wedding, mascara running down her face as she cries her eyes out saying, Am I making the right choice? What if he’s not the one? And it’s just—well, Harry doesn’t feel like that at all. He feels ecstatic, like he wants to jog down the aisle and just _do this already_ , because it doesn’t seem like he’s been waiting only three days for this.

It feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime, maybe a thousand of them.

“Go get ‘em, kiddo,” Anne grins, kissing his cheek, and then she’s gone. 

And now Harry’s standing only a few feet away from Louis with his heart in his throat, his heart pounding in his ears, making everything else seem far away and distant like he’s moving through water, slowly, way too slow. And then, Harry’s right there and he’s frozen in place as Louis turns towards him—it happens in slow motion and Harry’s throat is heavy like he’s about to cry, but he tells himself not to because their eyes are meeting, green eyes locked on blue, blue eyes looking back. Louis blinks, his stare widening as Harry comes to stand in front of him, and Harry tries to remember everything about this moment—the way the crowd behind them seems like nothing but the sea, the way the sunlight slants in through the big barn windows and softens the edges of Louis’ face, of Louis’ mouth.

“You clean up well,” Louis says, his voice low, just for Harry. 

“Shut up, Louis, fuck,” Harry laughs, starting to sniffle.

They’re holding each other’s hands in front of them, and Harry literally feels like he’s about to pass out or something because he’s never felt this giddy in his life. Butterflies erupt in his stomach but it’s the good kind of butterflies, the kind that spell out Louis’ name. 

“Don’t cry, mate,” Louis says, mouth tilted up at the corners. “’Cause then I might start.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. I’ve never once seen you cry in my life.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the audience,” Niall starts suddenly, and Harry glances over to see Niall standing at the pew, smiling wide. “We’ve brought you all here today to witness the unimaginable. Like, really, if you knew these boys in high school you’d know exactly what I’m talking about. This is bloody insane, so don’t panic or nothin’, but we’re about to see Harry Edward Styles and Louis William Tomlinson get married.”

Harry laughs at that and Louis squeezes his hand, and after that, everything is just a rainbow colored blur. Harry ends up crying as Louis kisses him, and Louis laughs into the kiss, ends up kissing Harry’s tears, Harry’s wet eyelashes. As they stand together beneath the arch of ivy and gold and white flowers, the fairy lights blur out into something more like glitter, Harry’s heart becoming light like helium, floating up and up and away, lost.

But he’s not lost, he thinks as Louis kisses him again, mouth warm, toothpaste and honey. He’s home.

♡

Sometime later on, the sky is darkening out into a heavy blue.

Harry and Louis are standing together outside, leaning back against the wall of the barn with their shoulders brushing. They just stand there, watching the rain as it turns into snow, the world going quiet, thousands of raindrops seeming to freeze in the air at once and come drifting silently towards the earth. 

And this is love, Harry thinks—

When you can just kind of do nothing with someone and it’s just the fact that you’re with them is the whole thing.

“I’ve been wondering something,” Louis starts, his voice thoughtful.

Harry grins, he can’t even help it. “That’s never good.”

"Hey, fuck off,” Louis laughs, his eyes crinkling. Harry likes that, when Louis laughs. He thinks he could spend forever trying to make Louis laugh. Louis sobers out, his eyes smoothing at the edges, and the raindrops are misted all over his hair. “I’ve just been wondering what you said.”

Blinking, Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “What I said?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, and then he waves his hand in front of Harry’s face. There’s a burst of laughter somewhere in the distance, and both of them turn to watch Eleanor and Gemma run off across the field with sparklers in their hands, their laughter echoing out into the trees. Louis makes a face, sighing loud before turning back to Harry. “Into the ring, I mean. What did you say?”

The dim sunlight makes Louis’ face look soft, and Harry blinks.

“I didn’t say anything,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “I sang.”

“You sang,” Louis repeats flatly, and then when Harry just shrugs, Louis’ eyes widen and he laughs loud, shoving Harry away playfully. There’s laughter coming out from inside the barn, but all Harry cares about is what’s right here in front of him. “Oh, fuck, that is so _you_. What did you sing?”

Harry laughs at that, because he always laughs when he hears Louis laugh, and then he moves towards Louis, closer and closer, their chests brushing, their knees brushing. Harry speaks the words right into Louis’ ear, his voice soft like silk, like summer rain. 

“Home is whenever I’m with you. Exact words.”

♡

In the ocean of bodies, Harry lets himself float.

The music pulses through him, slow and heady and remote, and it makes his mind feel all dizzy, makes his mind whirl around like a planet in orbit maybe, always faster and faster and faster. A laugh bubbles up in his throat and he grins, letting the crowd press in all around him, move him like the tide pulls the moon.

“Harry,” someone says, and Harry smiles, because that’s Louis’ voice.

“Hi,” Harry laughs, turning towards Louis as people dance all around them, moonlight washing in through the gaps in the barn walls and making the dance floor into a kaleidoscope of soft colors—baby blue, pale white, ivy and gold falling down from the ceiling, blurring out into stars on the way down. Harry keeps smiling, because he’s so happy right now he could die, and he moves closer towards Louis, their chests pressing together, Harry’s arms wrapping tight around Louis’ neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been gone for ten minutes,” Louis laughs, a breathless sound.

“But I’ve missed you,” Harry repeats, because it doesn’t matter if Louis was gone for ten minutes or ten days. When he’s not around, Harry misses him. That’s just how it works. That’s how it is. “And you, my boy, are looking proper handsome.”

“I’m not your fucking _boy_ ,” Louis groans, but he’s laughing as he places his hands just above Harry’s hipbones, right under the flaps of Harry’s tuxedo. They move slowly, slower than everybody around them, and it feels nice. It feels like floating. Louis’ the type of person that makes Harry feel drunk just by getting close, the whole world tilting into a blur of color and sound. Louis’ voice is right by Harry’s ear, and he’s saying, “Fancy going ballroom dancing?”

“I say we should, old chap,” Harry grins. “Away to it now?”

“Away to it now,” Louis nods, and then they’re dancing, moving together across the barn floor, slowly, slowly, so slow. Raindrops are pelting against the roof still, but Harry can barely hear them over the music that seems to be echoing somewhere behind his ribcage—low, buzzing, rattling there. Roundtables are set up around the dance floor but hardly anybody’s sitting down, and Harry’s flying because he’s married, he’s fucking married to Louis love-of-Harry’s-life Tomlinson, and it’s better than he ever thought it could be.

♡

The night passes by in a wave, and Harry swims in it.

He catalogues the small moments, and then he tucks them away for later, like little charms: Eleanor winking as she gives them a lavender and honey bath set, Niall getting tipsy and singing so loud on stage that Gemma has to drag him off of it, the moonlight dripping like water through the gaps in the roof, drenching everything.

At some point, the fairy lights wrapped around the ceiling beams start to look like stars, and Harry is dancing with Daisy and Lottie in the middle of the crowd when Louis finds him, says, “Time for cake, baby.”

Harry grins, nodding his head as he trails after Louis.

And hell, he should of seen the look in Louis’ eyes then, but he’s still somehow surprised when he lines up in front of the cake and Louis smashes his face into it, the whole barn erupting into laughter, into the bright flashing of cameras, the voices sounding like waves, the whole room becoming a fast moving carousel where everyone looks like streaks of light. 

“Fucking hell!” Harry shouts, wiping cake out of his eyes.

“Gorgeous hit as usual, Tommo,” Niall yells, clapping Louis on the back.

“Fuck, Haz, you should’ve seen your face!” Louis yells, hysterical.

Eleanor and Gem take pictures and Harry flips them both off, which makes everyone laugh even harder, except for Anne, who frowns and yells, “Harry, love, that’s not very nice!”

Louis laughs loud at that, his eyes crinkling, and then Harry ends up laughing too even though he’s trying not to, pushing past Louis and heading towards the barn doors. But when Harry goes outside to clean himself up, Louis follows him out, pushing him back against the wall of the barn before licking the icing off his cheeks, off his chin, off his mouth, his tongue. 

And Harry feels dizzy, he feels breathless, he feels right at home.

They’re standing right under the edge of the barn roof, a warm place where the rain can’t touch them—the sound of the raindrops is louder than usual, and it sort of startles Harry but he likes it, he likes the way his heartbeat is even louder in his ears, on his tongue. Water is falling in steady streams from the barn roof and Harry makes a small sound as Louis rests a hand on Harry’s hip, right under his shirt, skin against skin. They watch each other for a moment, eyes heavy and dark, but then Harry ends up smiling, his head spinning around as Louis kisses him again and again and again. 

“You really love that cake, don’t you?” Harry asks, grinning wide.

“I love you,” Louis says, voice warm. “And that’s forever.”

♡

Back at the cabin, the firelight is soft, like a spider web or a summer storm.

Harry smiles sleepily as he sits back in his chair, his breath leaving his mouth in white puffs as him and the lads all sit around the fire pit in the backyard, right beside the porch. Up on the porch, there’s the patio table covered in snow, the fairy lights glowing gold, and the sliding glass door that leads back into the kitchen, white stars spilled across the pitch black sky like electric bugs.

Harry feels more at home than he’s ever felt in his life.

It’s just him in his best mates sitting around a fire in the backyard, the smoke pouring upwards into the sky, making everything hazy. Zayn is playing music from his phone, and Harry’s never heard the song before but he likes it. He likes it, and he likes the way that he can almost feel Louis’ warmth against his face even though they’re sitting on opposite sides of the fire—Louis sitting beside Zayn and Liam, Harry sitting with his head resting on Niall’s shoulder.

Harry feels drunk, his toes and fingertips turning into stars.

He glances over at Louis while Zayn and Liam and Niall all start in on a conversation about whether Gemma and Eleanor seemed _too_ close or just close _enough_ , and he finds Louis looking back at him. Harry’s breath hitches, because he’s a fucking child around Louis, he always has been, and Louis just raises his eyebrows a bit. The firelight plays warm over the edges of his face, and Harry grins, pursing his lips.

If Louis was closer, Harry would kiss him.

He’d kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, until their mouths hurt, until their mouths bruised. It hits Harry all at once, and again, that they’re married. It hits him again that Louis is the rest of his life—his past, present, and future and like, that should scare the hell out of him, but it doesn’t. It makes him feel warm all over, and suddenly he’s not sure how he’s sat out here for so long without feeling Louis’ thigh against his. Right now, he just wants Louis to bring him upstairs and lick into his mouth, warm and soft and slow, fucking him down into the mattress. Hell, it’s all he wants. Closeness. Their bodies touching. Heartbeats singing the same song. Swallowing, Harry tugs at the collar of his suit, and his head is still resting against Niall’s shoulder. 

Louis nods towards the porch, a question, and Harry nods. 

“I should give a toast,” Niall says suddenly, his voice floating out into the silence. The orange firelight plays over his face, brightening the edges of it, and Harry groans and deflates a bit, taking a swig of his beer. Niall shrugs. “To the newlyweds.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Louis says, and the boys all laugh. 

But god, does Harry ever want Louis to just take him upstairs.

“I’d quite like to hear what you have to say, actually,” Liam offers, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s sitting in the seat on the other side of Niall, and Harry watches as the fire turns the dark brown of his eyes into honey. “Come on, Niall, do the toast.”

“Yeah, come on, Niall,” Zayn grins, rolling his eyes. 

Niall glances at Harry, and Harry grins, shrugging. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Niall says, smiling, and then he’s leaning back in his chair with one foot hooked over his knee. Harry has a feeling that Niall’s about to share some inappropriate joke that he’s been saving up since finding out about the wedding four days ago, so. That’s great. “Well,” Niall starts, his hand resting over Harry’s shoulders. “As you all know, Haz and I met when we were still in diapers.”

“Kinky,” Louis says, and the boys all laugh.

“Shut the hell up, Tommo,” Niall says, but he’s chuckling too, wiping a thumb across his eyebrows. “Yeah, so as I was sayin’, me and Haz have been best mates for as long as I can remember, really. I saw all the bits of him that you lads were lucky enough to miss—” 

“Hey,” Harry frowns, shoving Niall’s shoulder. “Did not.”

“Did too!” Niall says. “Like remember that one time you dressed up as Scooby Doo and crashed Gemma’s first house party?”

“You dared me to do that!” Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, whatever,” Niall says, looking back out at the circle again. It’s quiet around the cabin, just the four of them in the backyard, the fire sitting between them—Anne went over to Jay’s for the night, and Gemma went down with Eleanor to some party at the lake, so they won’t be back until tomorrow morning. And yeah, technically Harry and Louis should totally be on their way to a honeymoon location right now, but they have no idea where they want to go, so they decided to wait. Besides, Harry thinks that anyplace with Louis is a good place to start. Niall clears his throat, bringing Harry out of his thoughts. “What I’m trying to say here is that I’d never seen Harry with anyone the way he was with you, Louis, and I’m—”

“Oh my god,” Harry groans, his face flushing red. “Ni, don’t start.”

“It’s true!” Niall laughs, taking a small sip of his beer. He shrugs. “I mean, I sort of reckoned you were a bit of knob at first, Tommo, what with hooking up with Haz and then ignoring him for months on end—”

“I ignored him for three weeks,” Louis corrects and then, a second later, he glances at Harry with his eyebrows raised. “You told Niall that we hooked up?”

Harry’s eyes widen, and he tries not to laugh. “What? Did you not tell anyone?”

“He told _me_ ,” Zayn says suddenly, grinning wide. Louis rolls his eyes, the fire bathing him in warm colors, and Zayn looks at Harry with a small smile on his face. “Quite honestly mate, I knew he fancied you from the second time he brought you up in conversation.”

“Why?” Harry asks, grinning shyly. “What’d he say?”

“This is getting interesting,” Liam says, just as Louis frowns and says, “I’m right _here_.”

“Nothing that I can remember, really,” Zayn says finally, and his eyes are warm beneath the firelight. He’s got stubble on his face and his hair is slicked back with gel, and he looks so cool, somehow. He’s the same Zayn from high school, except better because now Harry knows him, knows his whole soul. Zayn shrugs, cradling a bottle of beer in one hand. “I think he was in denial at the time, but he’d never spoken to me about anybody more than once before, so it sort of clicked in m’head.”

“I’m gonna click your head in a second,” Louis groans.

Harry laughs, his whole body lighting up like a carnival ride. It’s such a small thing, really, but it’s nice to know that Louis was going just as crazy as he was in those three weeks where they didn’t touch, didn’t look at each other. It’s funny, because Harry had been doing fine before all of it, before the dark bedroom and the party and the blue light, but once he got a taste of Louis, nothing was enough anymore.

“Fuck me,” Niall groans. “Would you all just shut up for a second?” 

“Pushy,” Louis says, but he’s crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. The air is still heavy from the rainstorm earlier this morning, and it’s a bit cold, but Harry likes it. “Alright lads, pipe down now,” Louis says, because Zayn and Liam are still laughing about something on Zayn’s phone, their faces lit up by the screen. Louis shoves at Zayn’s shoulder, frowning. “Niall has something to say.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he pockets his phone.

“Thank you,” Niall says again, taking another sip of his beer before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He makes a small face, and Harry watches quietly as the flames flicker and snap, casting pale shadows over Niall’s face. “Basically,” Niall says, “I just wanted to tell you, Harry and Louis, that I’ve been rooting for you from the beginning, yeah? I mean, I love you lads like crazy, like, you’ve no idea. I like the two of you together. It feels right to me, it always has, and I wish you the best of the rest of your lives.”

Harry blinks, taken aback. “That was lovely, Niall. Thank you.”

“Means a lot, mate, thanks.” Louis adds, smiling. “I’m happy to have gotten your stamp of approval.”

“To be honest though, I sort of thought you were gonna make a penis joke,” Zayn smiles, and Liam laughs at that, his dark eyes crinkling. Harry smiles a bit and Zayn shrugs. “But I agree, definitely. And I’d say good luck but I don’t think you’ll need it, boys.”

“Yeah, same,” Liam adds. “You’re meant to be.”

“God, no,” Louis groans, rubbing a hand down his face as he stands up, still right across from Harry. “I already want a divorce. Look at his smug little face,” he says, pointing right at Harry. He’s smiling, and that’s the reason that Harry can’t stop smiling—because Louis’ looking at him with gentle eyes and it’s like, in that moment, blue is the warmest fucking color in the world. “Look, look,” Louis says, and Harry’s smiling so wide that his eyes are crinkling, so wide that his cheeks hurt. Louis says, “He knows I’ve got it bad for him, see. I can tell by the look in his eyes.”

“I haven’t got a look in my eyes!” Harry laughs, and it feels like it’s just him and Louis again, the rest of the world melting away.

“You do,” Louis says, taking a small sip of his beer. “It’s the same look that I’ve always got when I look at you.”

“Oh, isn’t _that romantic_ ,” Liam sighs, chin cradled in his hands.

Zayn says, “I’m gonna throw up,” and Niall chuckles, shakes his head.

“Shut the fuck up, all of you,” Louis laughs, setting his beer down beside his seat. He wipes his hands together, looking around the fire again, and Harry thinks he’s like the most gorgeous looking person in the world. Most gorgeous on the inside, too. Louis glances at Harry, his eyes lighting a fire in the space between Harry’s ribs. “If you don’t mind,” Louis starts, and he’s talking to the lads but he’s looking straight at Harry, his blue eyes gentle, heavy, warm. “Me and my boy are gonna head upstairs now.” 

Up above, the white stars spin closer, listening in. The sky darkens like a blush.

“Alright,” Harry nods, swallowing. His words sound like they’re coming from somebody else and he’s lost because all he can think about is Louis’ mouth on his neck, Louis’ mouth on his thighs, inching closer and closer and closer, the heat spreading through Harry’s body like a wildfire. “We’ll see you boys in the morning, yeah?”

“Not if we see you first,” Niall grins, and Louis just rolls his eyes and sighs, because apparently there’s nothing much he can say to that.

♡

Harry moans, his head falling back against the wall with a thud as Louis crowds in against him, kissing his neck, the dip between his collarbones. Louis’ mouth is warm against Harry’s skin, sucking, biting, and Harry feels dizzy with wanting. They haven’t even made it to the bedroom yet but they’re stumbling up the stairs, laughing and kissing as they trip and fall, slamming themselves into walls, into door frames, into each other. Always into each other.

If Harry’s body were to turn into snow, Louis would melt it.

It would be that easy for him, Harry thinks. Louis could just touch him and warm up every cold place, melt frost from his bones. It’s insane, feeling so much for someone, so much that he doesn’t even know what do with it. Louis bites at Harry’s bottom lip and Harry exhales sharply through his nose, laughing dizzily, breathless.

“You gonna fuck me?” Harry asks, his voice low as he stands against Louis’ door. Sometimes Harry likes to do the fucking, sometimes he likes to get on top and just go for it, but tonight he feels different—tonight he wants to do it like they did it the first time, with Louis on top, his body heavy. Harry says, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Shit,” Louis breathes, forehead resting against Harry’s. “Yeah.”

The hallway is a long empty stretch of shadow and moonlight, but it feels bright where Harry’s standing, like the moon is sitting on his tongue, spilling light all over the place. Louis’ watching him with heavy eyes and Harry tilts his chin up a bit, asking for a kiss. 

Mouth tilting up at the corner, Louis looks at him, his bright blue stare flickering between Harry’s eyes and Harry’s mouth, and then he leans in and presses his lips to Harry’s—their eyes stay open, noses brushing, and they just watch each other with their lips touching until Harry laughs into it and kisses back harder, his eyes still open.

“Such a freak,” Louis mutters. “Close your fucking eyes—”

“No,” Harry says, kissing Louis again and again and again, small pecks ‘cause he just can’t help it. He’s smiling, liking the way that Louis’ hands are brushing through his curls, Louis’ thumbs on the sides of Harry’s face, warm and gentle. Harry says, “I like seeing you this close. You’ve got nice eyelashes.”

“You think so?” Louis asks, rocking his hips forward a bit.

Louis’ hard, and his erection brushes against Harry’s crotch, making Harry’s mouth drop open around a gasp, nerves buzzing with arousal. “Yeah,” Harry groans, struggling to speak as Louis kisses his neck, sucking. “They’re very—picturesque.”

“Shut up,” Louis says. “Your sex talk is horrific.”

“That wasn’t my sex talk!” Harry says, eyes widening as Louis moves away to open the bedroom door. 

It’s dark in there, the only light coming from the huge bay window that looks out onto the tips of frosted pine trees in the backyard. 

Louis moves into the bedroom, a silhouette against the darkness, and Harry follows him inside, both of them stripping down until they’re left with nothing, naked and shivering in the empty room, moonlight crisscrossing over the carpeted floors. The heater’s broken but Harry feels warm with Louis’ eyes hot on his face.

“C’mere,” Louis says, voice soft, and Harry does.

He’s as high as the bloody stars and Louis’ hands are all over his body, all over his thighs, making him hot, hot, hot as he falls back onto the bed with a groan, his whole body becoming a volcano choir as Louis straddles his hips, nerve endings buzzing until they combust into nothing but heat and dust and love.

“Louis,” Harry says, words blurry as he moans, body arching.

In the hazy moonlit darkness, Louis reads Harry’s body like a map. His hands, touching—his mouth, tasting. Harry can’t handle it, he’s so hard that he can’t even think, and he feels like he’s not even in his body anymore, his head floating so high up that he’s barely in the room at all. Higher and higher and higher, his skin burning up, Louis’ mouth on his nipples, sucking, biting. 

“Oh, shit,” Harry breathes, his body jolting with the feeling. 

Louis moans at that, keeps kissing him, marking all the places on Harry’s body with his mouth, with his teeth. It’s like he’s trying to say I’ve been here, I’ve been here, I think I’ll stay. Harry wants him to. 

“Fuck,” Louis starts, breaking away. “Fuck, H, your _body_.”

Harry blinks, suddenly shy in the moonlight. He’s completely naked, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach, and Louis’ staring at him the same way he did the first time they ever did this—in a dark room at a party, music muffled and far away, when it was just the two of them, darkness and breathing and touch. It’s always just the two of them, Harry thinks. Even when everybody else is still around.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Harry laughs, rubbing at his eyes.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Louis smiles, and _oh_.

“You remember that?” Harry asks, dazed. “You never mentioned—”

“Jesus, of course I remember that,” Louis says, and he’s looking down at Harry with heavy eyes like he’s trying to say something important here, something worth listening to. “Shit, Haz, I remember everything to do with you, I’ve told you. You’ve messed with my head, man, now it’s all I think about—”

“What is?” Harry asks, his voice gone low, throaty. Louis looks at him, eyebrows raised, and Harry swallows. “I mean, what’s all you think about?”

“You,” Louis answers, sighing like it should be obvious. “You and your dumb mouth, your stupid frog legs, your hands, your body.”

“Yeah, you’ve always liked my body,” Harry grins, slow and wide.

Louis rolls his eyes and Harry shuffles backwards on the sheets, lying back on the bed with his head against the pillows, and the moonlight makes his skin look all dumb and silver. Louis’ still watching him though, just standing on his knees between Harry’s legs, and suddenly Harry laughs, loud against the silence of the room, thinking about that time a few weeks ago when Louis was trying to make snow angels on the balcony of their flat and Harry got down on all fours and sucked him off, right there, the traffic lights below passing by like twinkling stars. 

“What you laughin’ about,” Louis asks as he sits at the end of the bed, grinning like he’s trying not to.

“Sucking you off,” Harry admits with a laugh. “The other day, I mean. That was fun.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Have you quite finished?”

Harry smiles and nods, rolling over on the bed and propping himself up on his elbows, bum in the air, face down, cheek pressed against the cotton white bed sheets. There’s a quiet intake of breath behind him and Harry wishes he could see Louis’ face right now, wishes he could see what Louis’ eyes look like, but his body is flushed all over and his cock is hard against his belly and hell, he just needs Louis _inside_ of him.

“C’mon, Lou,” Harry says, his voice strained.

“Yeah, alright,” Louis replies, and there’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to kneel behind Harry, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, but then Louis’ there and Harry feels his erection brushing against his bum, but just barely.

“God,” Harry breathes, because already it’s too fucking much.

Everything is too much, not enough, a spinning feeling.

“Do you need—” Louis starts, and Harry just shakes his head, pushing his bum back against Louis’ dick.

“No, I’m good from this morning, c’mon,” he says.

Louis exhales sharply, and beat passes where everything just feels frozen over, their bedroom and their bodies and their breath, but then Louis’ right there again, he’s pushing inside, and Harry’s vision blurs as Louis fills him up, going deeper and then deeper still—heat stirs in Harry’s belly, spilling down his spine, and he can’t think, he can’t do anything other than moan loud and bite down on his wrist.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Louis breathes, and Harry clenches his eyes shut.

“Don’t do that, Lou,” Harry says, his voice coming out like a whimper. “I don’t—I don’t wanna come too soon.”

“You’re always right on time,” Louis laughs, thrusting harder.

Harry moans, resisting the urge to touch himself. He likes when he comes just from Louis fucking him, or from Louis reaching around and grabbing hold of Harry’s dick, stroking soft until Harry spills over his fingers. Louis’ circling his hips and fuck, Harry will never quite get over the feeling of having Louis’ cock inside of him, brushing against that spot inside of him, making his head whirl—his whole body feels flushed with heat and he can’t stop moaning.

Heat, white hot heat, spreading through his body, his bones.

Louis’ hands are on his hips and Louis’ fucking him slow, and every time he thrusts deeper, Harry makes a small whimpering noise and he just can’t stop himself. It’s like they get dragged out of him, and his head is whirling around and around.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathes, his voice breaking like a wave. “I’m close.”

“Shit, me too,” Louis laughs, almost hysterical. “Already. Wow.”

Harry breathes heavily, his eyes clenched as he bites down onto his arm to keep from crying out. It’s like heat is prickling through him, making gaps in all his thoughts. He doesn’t remember words, he doesn’t remember anything other than heat and Louis and love. And he’s about to force himself to think about something else, something that will keep him going a little bit longer, because this is pathetic, but then Louis’ reaching around and taking hold of Harry’s cock and it’s like, _good luck_ —

“So unfair,” Harry moans, his thoughts a blur.

Louis laughs, hauling Harry up by the shoulders until Harry’s standing on his knees and Louis’ right there behind him, jerking Harry off slowly, his thumb brushing the head of Harry’s cock. Harry pants heavily, twisting his head back to kiss messily into Louis’ mouth, moaning loud as Louis nips at his bottom lip.

Louis keeps fucking him, holding Harry upright.

“Come for me, baby,” Louis says, breath warm against Harry’s ear.

Harry whimpers at that, his head falling back onto Louis’ shoulder.

When he comes, Harry’s eyes are still closed, and in the dark behind them he sees beautiful things: oceans of darkness breaking apart as the light bleeds through, light meaning love, love meaning Louis. His heart is swimming in his ears and pounding on his tongue and he can’t breathe, he can’t think because he’s so bloody turned on, he’s so fucking desperate, all the time. 

This night is moon beams, a frosted window, two bodies moving in the dark.

When Louis comes and kisses Harry, it makes Harry think of stars streaking through a pitch black sky. Louis kisses Harry’s cheeks, Harry’s eyelids and his nose and his forehead and the warmth of him makes Harry think of home, of a compass leading a ship to shore, of a red ribbon carrying them through this life and into the next one. In that moment, however long it is, while Louis’ saying Harry’s name into Harry’s mouth and Harry’s breathing him right in, Harry realizes that this, right here, is all he’ll ever need.

♡

Somewhere in the dream, there’s the sound of crashing waves.

Harry groans, a sleepy sound that gets stuck in his throat, and his teeth are chattering from the cold. He shifts over in bed, pressing his face to the hollow of Louis’ throat, and he smiles sleepily because it’s warm here, it’s warm and against his forehead he can feel the slow, swimming pulse of Louis’ heart.

Bright blue, ocean white, sea foam on a morning shore.

They’re bundled up in blankets and quilts and Harry’s body is warm as he slots his legs between Louis’, burrowing closer. But it still feels cold, like someone’s left a window open somewhere and the air from outside is rushing in, cold air that’s full of snow and star kisses—and that doesn’t make any sense, see, because Harry remembers telling Louis to shut the window before they went to bed.

“Lou,” he breathes, body shivering, his words muffled against Louis’ throat. “Louis, I’m cold. Close the window.”

“Fuck, Harry, go to sleep,” Louis groans, but he’s pressing his mouth against Harry’s forehead anyways, just keeping it there. 

Harry frowns, his teeth still chattering. “I’m freezing.”

Louis stays quiet, and Harry frowns, thinking that he must have fallen back asleep already—it sort of seems like Harry’s still asleep too, because the dark behind his eyelids is lighter than ever, like the edges of the blackness are lighting up, getting brighter, white stars filling up the space, white stars or white snow, or just static. And he almost thinks it’s the sun, but there’s no warmth on his face. The only warmth is Louis’ body pressed against his like a furnace, their legs tangled together beneath the thick pile of quilts. The waves are still crashing somewhere in the depths of his dreams, bright white seabirds calling out into the wind, their sounds echoing.

“Fine, I’ll close the bloody window,” Louis groans, and Harry grins sleepily against Louis’ neck. “But it’s your turn next time.”

“Love you,” Harry says, a soft sound that’s barely there at all. 

He keeps his eyes closed as Louis shifts away from him and sits up in bed, the cold wind slipping into the place where Louis’ body used to be. The whole world pauses, quieting down for a moment before there’s Louis’ voice beside him, loud and bold, saying, “What in the _fuck._ ”

“What, Lou—” Harry frowns, trying to blink his eyes open. But it’s bright, way too bright, so he shuts his eyes again. “Ow, crap.”

“Haz, holy fuck, look where we are,” Louis says, his voice rushed as he nudges Harry’s shoulder. “Look where the fuck we are!”

There’s the sound of crashing waves again, and Harry opens his eyes slowly, with a small groan. At first, all he sees is whiteness, just whiteness as deep as the sea, and then the world shifts into focus. There’s a seagull circling above him, so far away that it’s just a gray speck against the bright white sky, and Harry’s a bit confused for a moment because what is a seagull doing in their bedroom, but then Louis’ laughing, wild and hysterical and lovely.

“We’re at the bloody ocean!” Louis shouts, laughing.

Harry sits up in bed, rubbing the backs of his eyes before looking around, and hell—Louis’ right. They are at the ocean. Everything is white and frosted over, waves crashing in the distance, and there are people laughing down further on the shore, but they’re so far away they just look like ants wearing rain coats.

“Oh, shit,” Harry breathes, squinting against the light.

He’s trying to figure out how they got here, but it doesn’t make any sense. They’re still in the bed they fell asleep in, they’re just not in the same place, and Harry has no idea how that’s even possible.

“How the fuck,” Louis mutters, almost laughing.

Harry laughs too, his teeth chattering, and then he’s scanning around the area for some clue to how they ended up here. The beach is practically empty, just a few people clustered down along the shore, and so Harry turns to look behind him—at the abandoned beach house a few yards away, at the small stretch of rocks and white sand, and then, standing on top of that—oh, no. No fucking way.

“How did I know!” Harry shouts, standing up in the bed.

He wobbles a bit, and suddenly Louis’ jumping up beside him, both of them staring with shocked eyes into the distance. Louis laughs, even louder than before, and the sound wakes Harry right up. “Oh, you won’t be laughing in a minute!”

“Morning, lads!” Zayn shouts, hands cupped around his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all talk, Tommo!” Niall laughs, his grin blurred by the distance.

Liam’s just laughing, and suddenly Harry’s laughing too, because how did they do this, how did they even manage to get them here without waking them up—he’s got so many questions, but he forgets them all when Louis smashes a handful of snow into his face, laughing wild.

“Fucking hell, Lou!” Harry sputters, wiping snow from his eyes.

It’s cold, it’s so bloody cold, and he feels like his face is going numb, teeth chattering like crazy in his mouth.

He’s about to shout something else but then Louis’ pushing him back onto the bed with a laugh, climbing on top of him and taking Harry’s face in his hands. Like this, Louis’ face seems washed out by the sunlight and the sky seems so white behind him, but Harry can still see him clearly because he’s memorized that face—the soft slope of Louis’ nose, the messy fringe of his hair, the small curve of his mouth, the mouth that Harry always a taste of. He’s got a red hat on and he seems so bright against the pale whites and blues of everything around them.

“We’re married,” Louis says, and Harry laughs.

“Never had you pegged as a romantic,” he grins, feeling hazy.

“Shut up, you fucking bastard, we’re married,” Louis laughs, and his thumbs are brushing slow over Harry’s cheeks, spreading warmth. Harry’s aching to kiss him, and he’s starting to feel his toes again. Louis leans down, kisses Harry quick and urgent, like he’s trying to say something. “Shit, I love you like mad, man.” 

“Thank you,” Harry says, smiling wide. “I love you too, _man_.”

Somewhere in the distance, the ocean waves crash and spray over the black rocks, and Harry can feel the cold air against his skin. 

Bright blue, ocean white, sea foam on a morning shore. 

Louis leans down again, cold tip of his nose brushing against Harry’s, and this time they kiss like they’re just learning how to: clumsy, like two kids getting close at the back of a school bus. Like two kids in a gymnasium that’s all pale blue light, music electric, the ceiling covered in star shaped helium balloons. They kiss, Louis’ mouth warm against Harry’s, and Harry sees his life pass by him in fragments—the party, their first kiss in the dark, their second kiss in the locker room, their third kiss in the back of Louis’ car. He sees himself meeting Louis’ mum for the first time, on accident, and then again and again, on purpose those times. He sees the time they went to the cinemas, their shoulders brushing as the black and white movie brightened the room in flashes. It was their first date, Harry realizes, even though Louis wouldn’t admit it at the time.

Past, present, and future—for Harry, it all means the same thing. It all means Louis.

Harry smiles, dizzy and breathless. “If I told you that I think we should have babies, would you tell me that there’s not a chance in—”

“Hey,” Louis laughs, covering Harry’s mouth with his hand, and his wedding ring is warm against Harry’s bottom lip. Louis looks down at Harry, ignoring the other boys as they shout at them to stop snogging and get the hell over there, and he doesn’t even move his hand when Harry licks his palm—he just smiles softly, kissing Harry’s nose. “You can have whatever you want.”

“Good,” Harry says, smiling wide. “I want a snow castle.”

“A snow castle,” Louis laughs, shaking his head, and the sound of his voice blurs out into the sound of the waves in the distance, but Harry still hears it like a whisper. The sky is white, so white, and the cold sunlight pours itself over everything. Louis looks back down at him, trailing his thumb over the soft bend of Harry’s brow. “I’ll get right on that.”

**Author's Note:**

> big thank you to all of my tumblr followers - for sticking around and for sending me messages that make my day, every day! you guys inspire me in ways that you would never believe. [you make loving fun.](http://fgwblog.files.wordpress.com/2011/12/barn-wedding-100.jpg) thank you. i hope you enjoyed this!!! :) ♥
> 
> PS: [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yJGMK8clxk) is what i imagined harry and louis dancing to, but i wanted you all to imagine your own song :) lots of love!


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